Whose Lair Is It Anyway?
by Random-Battlecry
Summary: Something has gone decidedly odd, and all the versions of Erik that ever were descend on one lair, all convinced that they're the only Phantom. Randomness ensues. COMPLETE!
1. Episode I A New Rope

**Title: Whose Lair Is It Anyway?**

**By: Random-Battlecry**

**A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it got too long, so I halved it. I'll post the second part in a few days— or when I write it, whichever comes first. I have to say, this whole thing reminds me of the auditioning scene from "The Producers." "Will the dancing Hitlers please wait over there? We are only seeing singing Hitlers!" Also I must say that Leroux Erik is my favourite... and Gerry Phantom is the one that gets stuck in my head... :)**

This is how it happened.

Erik— the original Erik, that is, the Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost, the Angel of Music, the Angel of Death, Red Death, Just Plain Angel, Monsieur le Fantome, or the Phantom Fop Killer, for it has been mentioned elsewhere that he is a lover of pseudonyms as well as trap-doors, and, well, people named Christine— Erik sat at home one evening, as he usually did, brooding on the general ickiness of life.

Life, the thought, was, generally, very icky.

He could be forgiven for holding this rather pessimistic view, considering who he was and what history lay foremost in his mind. His deep love for the young ingenue Christine Daae, her subsequent rejection of him in favor of the— well— more conventionally-handsome young Viscomte de Chagny, was all well-known. Erik thought, bitterly, that life had not only failed to get betters ince that fool Leroux had written his story, it had gotten considerably worse. And more icky.

He cast a dark and brooding glance at the pile of punjabbed phangirls in the corner. The latest one had come only that morning, fighting her way through the various obstacles. She'd had bright hazel eyes, long messy hair, and a notebook, with a pen clutched tightly in her left hand. On talking to her for a few minutes, he had discovered that she was a writer of phan-fiction. Whereupon he had killed her instantly.

Erik left off brooding about the murdered phangirls and returned to brooding about life.

Suddenly a sound hit his alert ears and his head snapped up. Someone was coming, swimming the lake He was quite used to phans attempting to reach his lair, but two in one day was almost unheard of. it was too much. With a feral growl, Erik stood and moved to one side of the entrance, the Punjab held ready. No talking this time, just sweet violence and another body slumping to the floor.

His plan was spoiled somewhat by the fact that, for the first time ever, someone had heeded the advice given and was holding their hand at the level of their eyes.

Erik fought— Erik struggled— then he got a good look at the man he was trying to kill and stopped dead.

It was him.

It was Erik.

Erik was trying to kill Erik.

Even I his madman's mind, he briefly acknowledged that this might indicate he had finally gone off the deep end, and he began slowly to back away in horror. It took him several minutes to realize that the other Erik was doing the same thing.

"Who are you!" they both shouted at the same time. "What are you doing here?"

In the depths of his distraction, Erik noted that this new Erik had a more refined and lovely speaking voice than Erik himself. He was also slightly taller, and his suit was of a different cut. The mask was the same, however, and the wild eyes staring out from behind it—

No, these eyes were different. Only slightly, but still, the difference was there.

"What are you doing in my home?" rasped Erik, the Punjab once more held at the ready.

"Your home?" said the other Erik. "It isn't your home! It is mine!" Definitely a British accent, though the newcomer spoke fluent French. Momentarily perplexed by this, Erik tensed himself.

"It is not your home— it is mine! How dare you have the audacity to attempt to claim it!" He frowned mightily, his eyes glittering. "By what right are you here? Who are you?"

The other man stood up straight and bowed deeply. "I am Erik."

"Nonsense. I am Erik!"

"Monsieur, that cannot be, for I am Erik."

"You are mad!"

The new-Erik bowed again. "And have been these many years. Tell me, does a sane person live beneath the Opera House, all alone in the darkness?"

"I am not insane!" Erik bellowed.

"Then you cannot be Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. Everyone knows he— I, that is— is quite mad."

"I am not mad!"

The other Erik stiffened and looked behind the original Erik's shoulder. "Have you invited guests?"

Erik turned.

There stood—

Erik.

Erik clutched at his hair. The other one did the same, making a low moaning noise that sounded more animalistic than human.

Erik stared.

Erik reeled.

Another Erik, coming through the door, tilted his head to one side in shock at the tableau that met his eyes. After a moment, he recovered and roared, in a deep voice, "_What are you doing in my home?"_

For a few moments, all was pandemonium. The original Erik— at least, he thought he was the original Erik— he was not mad! He was not mad! He was quite sane and soon he would deal with these usurpers—

Briefly, he wondered what kind of man it would take to attempt to usurp the position of Opera Ghost—

The ordeal was by no means over. There now trickled through the entrance a steady stream of Eriks— most wearing a strange version of the mask that covered only the right half of the face. Erik stared at these newcomers. It was a travesty— only half a mask! Surely _they_ would not claim to be the fabled Phantom of the Opera—

One of the figures found Erik's cane and rapped it on the wall, clearing his throat and waiting till he had people's attention.

"Greetings," he said in a slightly nasal but very attractive British accent. His voice was light and though the mask hid only half his face, his lips were clearly twisted by his deformity. Erik began to warm to him. "Hello. Um, allow me to say, briefly, that I realize many of you are perplexed by all this, and I must own to being a bit confused by it myself. I do not know how this has happened, but I do know how to explain the fact that there are so many of us here, all seeking the same position, all claiming to reside here in this—" He looked about him. "Rather damp, if I may say, lair." He paused, and cleared his throat again. "Gentlemen, we all claim to be the Phantom of the Opera— and rightly so. For we all are."

There were various mutterings of "What?" and "Ridiculous!" and a dying maniacal cackle from the man who kept speaking in italics. The Erik who had been holding forth cleared his throat again.

"When I say we are all the Phantom, I mean we are all different versions of the same man. I myself am the version from the musical by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, specifically the originator of the character in the play, Michael Crawford." He broke off and gestured uselessly towards his face. "And I do not go by the name Erik, as many of you seem to do. I am only 'The Phantom.'"

A small silence greeted this statement, as many of the Eriks tried to take it in. Finally the second Erik, who proved on later acquaintance to be the Kay Erik, spoke—

"What, do you mean to say you are only called 'The Phantom?'"

"That is what I mean to say, yes. Indeed."

"The Phantom," murmured Kay Erik to himself, a small smile on his lips. "What did Christine call you, then, when she found out you were not an angel? 'The?'"

There was a small wave of laughter from various Eriks.

"That is assuming you have a Christine, and do not call her 'The Ingenue,'" Kay Erik added.

Crawford Phantom flushed. "Of course I have a Christine," he said. "And what is more, she only left with that despicable Raoul de Chagny because—" Here he was forced to pause, as he hadn't thought that far ahead. "Well, she didn't want to, believe you me."

There were more Phantoms and Eriks pouring in by the minute, and Crawford Phantom looked about him desperately. Finally he spied Leroux, or Original, Erik over in the corner and took him by the arm. Leroux Erik shook him off and stared at him with wild eyes.

"Do not touch me!"

"Phaw," said Crawford Phantom, wrinkling his nose, "What is that smell?" He looked about him for a moment, then focused on Leroux Erik once again. "Oh, its you. Beg pardon, I'm sure."

"It's the smell of death," said Kay Erik from behind him. "Is it not on you?"

Crawford Phantom sniffed his own hands experimentally, then said, "No, thank God, it is not. I appear to have missed that part of the characterization."

Kay Erik snorted.

"Can we not go somewhere quieter and sort this out?" asked Crawford Phantom of Leroux Erik. "I am getting quite a headache from the senseless babbling of this lot, brothers though we may be."

Leroux Erik's head was pounding as well— he clutched his spidery fingers about his head and nodded wordlessly. Crawford Phantom took him by the arm and led him to another room, Kay Erik following along, closing the door behind them. It turned out to be Christine's room, the bed neat and plain, the furnishings dusty and neglected.

Crawford Phantom looked about.

"What happened here?"

"What do you mean?" asked Kay Erik sharply.

"I mean it is quite different. Where is the special bed? Where did all this furniture come from?"

"It was my mother's," said Kay Erik, at the same time as Leroux Erik groaned, "It is a secret!" They looked at each other in surprise, Leroux Erik still clutching at his head.

Slowly his arms came down. "You knew your mother?"

"Did you not know yours?" Kay Erik said softly, his eyes filling with a deep sorrow.

Crawford Phantom sighed sharply and said, "Since when do mothers enter into the story? We cannot have mothers cluttering up the scenery— there's far too much plot as it is."

The two Eriks looked at him as though he was mad, which was quite appropriate.

"Come, we must figure out why we have all been forcefully congregated," said Crawford Phantom, ignoring the look.

"Who," said Kay Erik testily, "died and made you God?"

Crawford Phantom looked down his nose at him.

Kay Erik made it painfully clear that he did not possess a nose to look down at anyone.

Crawford Phantom conceded the point wordlessly.

Kay Erik made an elaborate and mocking bow.

This silent dance of insults completed, they returned to the task at hand, only to find that Leroux Erik, while still protesting his sanity, was looking even wilder than he had at the start. To make matters worse, at that moment, the door banged open and a tall, well-shaped, and extremely handsome man stood there, mouth open, breathing rapidly. He wore a very tiny mask, more as an afterthought than anything.

"What did I miss?" he said. They noted his Scottish accent at once. All three looked at him with distaste.

"Who are you?" asked Crawford Phantom.

"I'm the Phantom," said the newcomer.

"You are not," said Crawford Phantom. "I am."

"Ah, but according to your little speech, which I was fortunate as to overhear on my way down to this place, there are apparently as many different versions of the Phantom as there are ways to kill a man."

The three erstwhile Opera Ghosts looked at each other.

"Punjab—" said Crawford Phantom, counting on his fingers.

"Torture room," whispered Leroux Erik.

"Poison," supplied Kay Erik, "and of course if we were to go into the different sorts of poison, and count each for itself, there would be thousands— millions—"

"Rapier," whispered Leroux Erik, falling to the bed and twisting the covers in his hands.

"Rapier, yes, and—" said Crawford Phantom, still counting.

"Er, pistol?" said Kay Erik.

The new Phantom stared at them with undisguised amusement plain in his piercing blue eyes.

"Yes, pistol, what else?"

"Er, Punjab?"

"I said that already."

"What," said the new Phantom, "is a Punjab?"

Slowly the two of them looked at him.

"Who are you, anyway?" inquired Crawford Phantom.

"Gerry Phantom," said the handsome man, making a slight bow. "Or Movie Phantom. Or Butler Phantom. Or Handsome Phantom. Or Gerik, not to put too fine a point on it. I am a lover of pseudonyms, it seems, as well as trap-doors—"

"Yes, thank you," said Kay Erik, rolling his eyes. "That point has been made. Shall we move on?"

"_Stab! Stab_!" shouted Leroux Erik, pounding his fist onto the bed. "_Stab stab stab slash stab_!"

"What," inquired Gerry Phantom, pointing at Leroux Erik, "is wrong with him?"

"He's not insane," said Crawford Phantom. "I'm sure he would want you to know that."

"I see."

"I believe," said Kay Erik, watching Leroux Erik closely, "he is reliving the fight with the Fop."

"Ah!" cried Crawford Phantom, "you call him the Fop as well, do you?"

"Of course, dear sir. That is what he is."

"Couldn't agree more," said Crawford Phantom with evident pleasure, clapping Kay Erik on the back. Kay Erik went stone-still and made it evident that such physical contact was not in the least welcome.

"I call him the Fop also," Gerry Phantom put in, and was ignored.

"I thought Leroux Erik did not have a fight with the Fop," said Crawford Phantom, frowning slightly.

Kay Erik thought about this. "You're right, I do not recall one— admittedly my version is still rather different from his— what is it you suppose he is doing then?"

They stared at him.

"Slash! Slash! Stabbity!" Leroux Erik cried. "I KEEL YOU, FABIO!"

"Aha," said Gerry Phantom, clearing his throat importantly, "I can help there. He is having overtones of phan-fiction brought into his character— POTO in 15 minutes, at the moment."

The other two stared in horrified amazement at Leroux Erik.

"He's being phictionized? That's awful!"

"I agree," said Kay Erik, agreeing, "we must do something about it."

"Yes, we must."

Nevertheless, they stood for a few more moments, watching Leroux Erik make deadly assaults on a defenseless pillow.

"It is quite entertaining," spoke up Crawford Phantom.

"It is," said Kay Erik, agreeing for the second time.

"Just wait till he starts going into 'True Saga of Weak-Willed Christine,' and drinking everything he can get his hands on," said Gerry Phantom, rolling his eyes. The attentions of the two cognizant Eriks returned to him.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I am one of the most easily-recognized versions of the Phantom, these days," said Gerry Phantom easily, "and as such I thought I had a part in this discussion."

The older Eriks glared at him, and were about to say something quite scathing, when Leroux Erik howled "_Mop the Fop_!" at the top of his voice, and fell back on the bed, exhausted.

"Poor thing," said Kay Erik, with another sudden surge of pity.

"Should we, perhaps get him something to drink?" suggested Crawford Phantom.

Gerry Phantom had been humming aimlessly for a bit and he chose this moment to start singing.

"_Flooooating— faaaalling— sweet intoxi—ca—shun_—"

"I say!" shouted Crawford Phantom, standing up straight and wheeling on him. "That's my song!"

"It's not just your song," said Gerry Phantom mildly. "It belongs to the character. Come to that, it belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber."

"Bugger Andrew Lloyd Webber—"

"Alright."

" It's _my_ song! You can't even sing it correctly, you're not supposed to sing that song if you're a baritone! You have to be a tenor!"

"Some people call me the Scottish Soprano," interjected Gerry Phantom modestly.

"Well, they're _stupid_!"

"Brava, monsieur, on your mature response to things," said Gerry Phantom, clapping his hands.

Crawford Phantom cursed quietly to himself for a few moments while Kay Erik put in, "You really are about as far from a soprano as is possible to get, you know."

"I know, but I quite like it when people call me that. It reinforces the fact that I really didn't totally screw up on 'Music Of The Night.'"

"Totally screw up?" Kay Erik repeated, staring with baleful eyes. "What kind of monster are you?"

"Well, I didn't do it wrong," said Gerry Phantom defensively. "I did quite a good job for an amateur—"

"_Amateur?"_

"I probably shouldn't have mentioned that."

"They cast an amateur as the_ Phantom_? They cast an amateur as— as— _me_?"

"Yes, look, about that— they needed someone younger, who could keep the attention of all the young girls in the audience—"

"_I_ could have kept the attention of the young girls in the audience," hissed Kay Erik, advancing on Gerry Phantom with a Punjab appearing as if by magic in his hand. "I have legions of phangirls, did you not know that? more than you will ever have! More than you will ever dream of!"

"I resent that," said Gerry Phantom coldly.

"_Do you_?" said Kay Erik, spitting venom.

"Er, yes."

"And its not _brava_, its _bravo_!" said Crawford Phantom, re-entering the conversation from the wrong side. "Or _bravi_! Learn your suffixes!"

"I was just going by the script!" Gerry Phantom snarled. "You cannot blame me for that!"

"And what is with that tiny mask of yours anyway?" asked Kay Erik, now looking for any excuse to get rid of Gerry Phantom. "Oh dear— let me guess. You cut yourself shaving and were out of toilet paper."

Gerry Phantom pressed a hand to his mask. "This covers a deformity so frightening it would kill you to look on it!" he said. The earnestness in his beautiful deep voice was impressive but the moment he took his hand off the mask, Kay Erik took the mask off his face, and the moment was somewhat ruined as the three other Eriks stood and stared at Gerry Phantom impassively.

Kay Erik began to laugh first.

He laughed so hard he was unable to say anything.

Crawford Phantom stared balefully at Gerry Phantom's "deformity." "This is the face that is so frightening it will kill whoever looks at it?"

"Well, actually," said Gerry Phantom, shifting uncomfortably, "I kill whoever looks at it, so, in a way— yes."

Crawford Phantom made a sound of deep disgust.

"Hey, this took nine hours to create!" said Gerry Phantom, pointing at his eye. "The first time, anyway! And then, you know, we got it down a bit—"

Crawford Phantom ripped off his mask and wig and came close to Gerry Phantom. "This only took a few hours," he rasped. "A few hours— every day— for the entire run— sometimes twice on Sundays—"

Gerry Phantom, now receiving an extremely unwelcome close-up of the mass of twisted flesh and makeup that was Crawford Phantom's right side of his face and head, gulped in a deep breath and swayed. Kay Erik perked up immediately.

"Is he going to faint?"

"Perhaps he's going to die," said Crawford Phantom impassively. "They say that happens every once in a while."

Gerry Phantom's beautiful blue eyes rolled up into his head and with a faint sigh he collapsed onto the carpet.

The other two stared down at him.

"They really shouldn't let amateurs into this kind of situation," observed Crawford Phantom.

"Once again, I agree with you," said Kay Erik, agreeing, then did a slight double-take. "Hey, he has carpet!"

"Oh, Christine, Christine, Christine," moaned Leroux Erik, coming back to himself slightly. "Christine, Christine, Christine, Christine, Christine, Christine—"

"Make him stop that, please."

"How?" asked Crawford Phantom, throwing his arms wide.

"Put your hand over his mouth."

"He's wearing a mask!"

"Well, take it off."

Crawford Phantom said, thoughtfully, "You know, I'm not really him, but I have a feeling he wouldn't appreciate that."

Kay Erik sighed harshly and whipped Leroux Erik's mask off. There was a brief moment of silence, then Kay Erik whimpered and Crawford Phantom fainted alongside Gerry Phantom.

"And I thought I had it bad," Kay Erik whispered. Leroux Erik, eyes glaring daggers into him, ripped the mask out of Kay Erik's hand and tied it back on. Kay Erik shakily turned away and bent over the fainted Phantoms to try and revive them— he was nearly succeeding when he felt the Punjab tighten around his neck.

"Gaawwk!"

"What's going on?" slurred Gerry Phantom.

"Hekze strrnglin merr!"

"Oh." Gerry Phantom nudged at Crawford Phantom. "Wake up, I think you're needed."

"Herrp mer!"

Gerry Phantom waved a hand at Kay Erik. "Just a moment." He leaned over Crawford Phantom's ear and sang into it in the deepest voice he could manage, "You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge—"

"Good God!" bellowed Crawford Phantom, coming awake immediately. He took in the situation and leapt to his feet, detaching Leroux Erik and unwrapping the Punjab from around Kay Erik's throat. "What did you do?"

"I took off his mask," wheezed Kay Erik, "remember?"

"You took off his mask?" repeated Gerry Phantom disbelievingly. "Even I could have figured out that wouldn't make him very happy."

"You shut up," said Kay Erik furiously. He turned towards Leroux Erik, who lay wheezing on the bed, a spent old man. "If he wasn't me, I'd kill him, I swear—" He quieted his breathing. "But I won't. I— I know how he feels— I shouldn't have taken off the mask— it was a mistake, a stupid mistake!"

"You have just gone," said Gerry Phantom, pointing a finger at him, "from raging lunatic madman to compassionate, sympathetic human being in the space of five seconds."

"Yes, I have. What of it?"

"Would you stop?"

"I'm being a four-dimensional character," snapped Kay Erik testily. "That's what I do, alright?"

Gerry Phantom shook his head and got off the floor. "Well, its annoying."

"I don't bloody care if it annoys you! Its who I am, I cannot just change it!"

"No, I suppose you can't— it takes someone like Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber to do that—"

"Speaking of which," said Crawford Phantom, rounding on him furiously, "will you kindly stop stealing my lines and my songs? How dare you sing 'Music Of The Night?' Not to mention 'Past the Point of No Return!'"

"What are those?" enquired Kay Erik.

"Songs from 'Don Juan Triumphant,'" snapped Crawford Phantom.

"Don Juan Triumphant? MY Don Juan Triumphant? My masterpiece? Those aren't the song titles!"

"No, no, from the Don Juan Triumphant that Lloyd Webber wrote for you," said Crawford Phantom, feeling the inexplicable need to explain in the hopes that this would help. It didn't. It just made Kay Erik more irritated.

"This Webber person _dared_ to try and write _my_ opera? My opera? _Mine_?"

"Look at all the extra punctuation," observed Gerry Phantom. "Now he's really getting mad."

"M I N E !"

"And for your information, I actually did a great job with 'Past the Point of No Return,'" Gerry Phantom informed Crawford Phantom. Crawford Phantom gave an elegant snort. "No, I mean it! My deeper voice quite lent itself to lines like 'what raging fire shall flood the soul?' It was quite a success. That is, until she ripped my mask off at the end— but that was in the script, so it wasn't like she had a choice."

"What raging fire shall flood the soul?" snarled Kay Erik.

"Yes, like that, only with more melody," said Gerry Phantom pleasedly.

"What kind of line is that? I would be ashamed to have written it! I demand that this Webber person be brought before me immediately and be made to apologize! In writing! And then I shall Punjab him!"

"You can't Punjab Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber," said Crawford Phantom, aghast.

"Why not? He's got a neck, same as anyone else, hasn't he?"

"Well— that's debatable, but—"

Gerry Phantom found this funny, and snickered. The other phantoms turned and glared at him.

"Did you just— snicker?"

"You're a Phantom, you're not allowed to laugh!"

"Unless it is an evil demoniacal laugh! Only then is it acceptable!"

"Yes, like this!" Crawford Phantom gave a demonstration. "Mwahaa-ha-ha-haaa-ha-ha! Give it a go."

"Mwa-her-hic," said Gerry Phantom, developing a bad case of the hiccups.

Crawford Phantom groaned and Kay Erik clapped a hand to his forehead.

"You can't do anything right, can you?"

Gerry Phantom hiccuped again and offered, "The phan-girls like me."

"So bloody what?"

"Well— they just do, that's all."

"Who bloody cares?"

Gerry Phantom nodded slowly, looking at Kay Erik. "You like to curse, don't you."

"So what if I bloody do?"

At that moment, there was a horrific noise from the other room. It sounded as if five hundred Christines had all descended to the lair beyond the lake and were trying to work out which Erik was which. Gerry Phantom rather bravely opened the door and found that this was, in fact, exactly what was happening.

The four Phantoms stared at the scene.

"_Oh no_—" they groaned.


	2. Episode II The Christines Strike Back

Ah, forgive me, but I must reply to you all! You are so veddy veddy wonderful!

**All Apologies:** I updated almost as soon as possible... (shifts nervously) Is that okay?

**S. A. Dickon**: I like to make them argue. Its fun...

**Atressa O'Riordan**: thank you!

**Baffled Seraph:** Loyal reader! You read with other people! That's great, share the insanity, there's plenty to go around!

**KatieScarlet**: Thank you as well!

**Maidenhair: **I'm glad!

**Rii**: ALW did destroy "Don Juan Triumphant," I'm sure the real Erik would feel that way...

**Willow Rose**: Hey, do I get to be the second contestant on your Phantom phic? Hint hint... what do I have to do, bribe you?

**Witchy-grrl**: I agree, POTO in 15 Minutes is a classic... I'd love it if someone would call my stuff a classic... (puppy-dog eyes)

**Musique et Amour**: Thank you!

**ElfLover:** "bickering like little old ladies." LOL, hadn't thought of it like that... now, of course, I won't be able to not think about it like that... and thank you for quoting Weak Willed Christine, I love it when people do that!

**EriksAngel1870**: Thanks for a nice long review... I love long reviews...

**Songwind**: Another loyal reader! Crawford Phantom is pretty awesome... I love Michael Crawford...

**YoukoElfMaiden: **Thou must read Susan Kay's Phantom if at all possible... and it may not be, apparently its pretty expensive, being out of print and all. I borrowed my sister's copy and read it ina couple of hours (loooong car trip) and loved her version of Erik... so intelligent and witty... and, er, four-dimensional...

**Dimac99**: Apparently a lot of people read this stuff at work. (sigh) Have you no shame:)

**Lamia**: glad you liked it...

**WritetotheDeath**: Don't think I can manage Dario Argento's Phantom, not being acquainted with him at all. Take it for granted they tore him to pieces, if you like...

**Solitaire-Me**: Is it really? _That's_ awesome!

**SimplyElymas**: Thanks for the review... gosh I love reviews...

**Clever Lass**: That line made me snicker when I wrote it... I am not particularly fond of Andrew Lloyd Webber, despite the combined force of Evita and Phantom... still cannot forgive him for Cats... and the forehead-bashing part was put in specially because of you...:)

**longblacksatinlace**: Gerry is a wimp. Ever see his interviews? In every one, he complains and complains about his makeup. So yeah, he's a wimp. But a cute wimp. And we love him. :)

**LazyCat:** The Phantom is funny, really! He's the only one in the whole bloody Opera House with a sense of humour! And about the eye-color, I've heard conflicting reports... they always look blue to me, but I'd love them to be green... green eyes are my favourite... mostly I just refer to them as blue because in most versions, the Phantom does have blue eyes... like Kay's book, etc.

**Amaruk Wolfheart**: Everyone seems to pity Gerry Phantom... I don't know why. he's the good-looking one.

**phantomzgerl**: I'm perfect? Didja hear that everyone, I'm PERFECT! Thank you, Phantomzgerl!

**Diana**: I'm doing my best, honestly I am. In the first chapter, the Lon Chaney one is there, making the moaning noises, and also the much-discussed Robert Englund is the one speaking in italics. Its hard to do those ones, and many others, because the only Phantoms I've really come into contact with are the original one, Crawford, Gerry, Kay's version, the one with Herbert Lom (gag me with a spoon) and whoever it was who played him in the version I saw when I was seven. But I really am trying to put all the diverse Phantoms in here... and Christines as well... and dang was this ever a long reply!

**Butterflied777**: There is more! DUN DUN DUN!

**CelticHeart**: Bra-whatever... snerk... I so look forward to the next chapter when I bring all the phangirls in... all you guys from PFN'll be there, trust me!

**Mandy the O**: I love you too! Please update more often! I posted this on PFN already but I like the line so I want to put it here... (ahem) _"Ever since I started reading phan-fiction, the Phantom has been having it off pretty much constantly in my brain, without my permission. This is growing detrimental to my everyday life, as in the middle of conversations I tend to go all misty-eyed and say, "Hang on a minute, Erik and Genn are on the organ bench again..." _

**La Foamy**: Everybody likes POTO in 15 minutes! Wish I were that famous...

**VegaOfTheLyre**: See above reply! Thanks for reviewing... :)

**EmailyGirl**: You must update as well... your story is getting very interesting...

**Betty**: Um, Bono? Gerry does **not** look like BONO! (goes slightly berserk) I forgive you. That was a very odd review, by the way... but okay.

**sparklyscorpion:** Ah, another long review... it so made my day...:) Crawford does the best MotN. I am a Music of the Night zombie, which means the default setting on my brain-music is (guess what) MotN, and often I wake up with it resounding around my head. And Gerry just didn't... quite... you know, the problem was that cringe-inducing high note. That was the problem. Sorry, Ger. And why didn't they let him do the evil laugh in the movie? I have to day I do drool over him, probably more than anyone else in the world... but he's still not my favourite Phantom... ooh look, I did another looong reply...

**Mary Su: **Thank you as well for the review!

**A/N: In conclusion, you guys all rock havers. And if you don't recognize a certain WWC, you must read "True Saga" which you can find on my author's page. It is very important.**

**Chapter Two**

Christines— Christines everywhere.

Most of them wore white dresses, symbolic of their pureness and virginity, for they had of course left Raoul on the eve of their wedding night, having realized that Erik was truly the only man for them— several wore black, for they had married Raoul, and then he had died after only six months or so, leaving them to come back to Erik as their heart truly desired— a few of them wore bright green and yellow, but this was more of a fashion statement than anything— and a few notable examples were stark naked, for reasons not adequately explored, which made most of the Eriks exceedingly nervous, and a few of them rather excited.

One of them danced past the four Eriks who stood just outside the door and shrieked at them, "Erik! Master of my madness! If you had not locked me in here I would have bound myself to you with chains!"

Leroux Erik perked up a little, until he found that, though this was his blonde-haired blue-eyed Christine, she'd been phictionalized and so wasn't the real thing after all.

A very young Christine came tripping up to them, her mouth agape, her eyes open, her chest heaving.

"Phantom!" she cried, flinging her arms wide. "I told you I'd come back when I was legal!"

It was obvious that she was referring to one of them, and Crawford Phantom, Kay Erik, and Leroux Erik all looked at Gerry Phantom, who was shifting uncomfortably.

They stared at him.

He grinned and blushed slightly.

"Phantom, say something!"

"Er— since when did you call me 'Phantom'? I thought you called me 'Angel.'"

"I did call you Angel— but you aren't an Angel— you're a Phantom."

"Actually, I'm an Erik," said Gerry Phantom self-importantly, causing Kay Erik to thump him on the head.

"Ye gods, man, things are bad enough without you trying to complicate them! Kindly keep your own name instead of attempting to usurp mine!"

"_Mine_!" howled Leroux Erik. "I am no singer! I am no phantom! I am no actor! I am Erik!"

Kay Erik waved a disinterested hand at him. "Yes, yes, we know."

Gerry Phantom's Christine, AKA Emmy Christine, continued to gaze with wide eyes at the four of them, not being able to think of anything to say. A few minutes of this and they were all exceedingly uncomfortable.

"Why does she stare so?" Crawford Phantom muttered.

Gerry Phantom sighed. "When God was handing out facial expressions, she got short-shifted, I'm afraid."

"But— which expression is this?"

"I don't know. I haven't been able to figure out what it means, yet. She looks like that when she likes me— she looks like that when she hates me— she looks like that when she wants me— and when she wants Raoul— and when she misses her daddy— and when she cries— and when she laughs—" Gerry Phantom heaved another sigh. "Honestly, she's only _got_ the one look. Admittedly she's very good at it, but—"

"And you say you two are from the film version?"

"Yes, that's right, yes we are."

Kay Erik snorted suddenly. "Well, I don't think much of you, I must say, but at least you're better than this girl."

"I agree," concurred Crawford Phantom. "I've seen better actors in dog-food commercials."

"_Phantom—?_" panted Emmy Christine, for no apparent reason.

"Um, yeah, right here," sighed Gerry Phantom, waving at her.

It was at this moment that Brightman Christine decided to come over. Catching sight of Crawford Phantom, she reared back impressively and sang about six words, not one of which was understandable.

Crawford Phantom smiled and advanced on her, engulfing her in his arms and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Ah, my dear, how are you?"

Brightman Christine trilled something else, also unintelligible.

"Good, good."

"What did she just say?" inquired Kay Erik.

"I don't know," said Crawford Phantom, turning his vague smile on them. "Before I taught her she was the victim of some demoniacal music teacher who put far too much stress on vibrato. Poor thing hasn't been the same since."

"FaAaAaAaAaAaAtTeE lLlLlInKsSsSsS MmMmEeEe-EE-ee-EE-ee to thee-EE-ee-EE-ee-EE-ee—" trilled Brightman Christine. Crawford Phantom patted her on the shoulder.

"Yes, yes, my dear, we know."

Emmy Christine gradually turned her Look, whatever it was, onto Brightman Christine.

"You are not Christine," she said. "I am Christine. I take singing lessons from the Phantom. He is my Angel of Music. I fear I love him. We will be married in a tea-garden on Wednesday, but I must convince Pastor Sultenfuss to attend, and also Margaret Queen of Scotland."

The Eriks turned once again to look at Gerry Phantom, who shrugged.

"I wanted the girl. I was prepared to tell her anything."

This was greeted with soft murmurs of understanding from the others, for they knew the feeling well. The two Christines stared at each other for a moment.

"TtTtTelLlLlLlLlLl mMeE-ee-EE-ee-EE, Ddar-lLiIiIiIiInG, dDoes YyouRrRrR PhPhPhanToMmMmMmMm hHavE aAaAaA nNoOoOoOoOoOsSsEe?"

There was a very long pause.

Then Emmy Christine said, "What?"

Brightman Christine took a deep breath in order to reiterate, but Crawford Phantom stepped in before something disastrous happened. Brightman Christine was known to go overboard when she was forced to repeat things.

"Of course he has a nose, dear. Just as I do."

Brightman Christine clutched him to her and sang something very hard in his face. Crawford Phantom held on to his mask in order to keep it from blowing away.

"Yes, thank you, dear, you too."

"Is she always like this?" asked Kay Erik.

"Worse," said Crawford Phantom with a strained smile. "You should have seen us in 'Past the Point of No Return.' She completely drowned me out, no-one could hear me, its no wonder that the audience didn't realize I wasn't Piangi."

"One of these days I really must hear this story," murmured Kay Erik in tones of darkest dire.

"When_ I_ did 'Point of No Return,'" said Gerry Phantom, seeking to re-assert himself, "we did this wonderfully awesome grabbing thing— like this—" He advanced on Emmy Christine and grabbed her hips and pulled her against him. "Come on, Christine, play along—"

With a small squeal of excitement that managed somehow not to change her expression at all, Emmy Christine realized what he was doing and put her hands on his hips eagerly.

"So we grabbed each other— see? And we were singing together— come on, Christine, sing with me—"

Obediently Emmy Christine opened her mouth a bit wider and together they sang the last verse of "Point of No Return." When they were finished Gerry Phantom looked expectantly to his audience, waiting for them to applaud the sheer sensuality of the performance, but Crawford Phantom looked annoyed and Kay Erik looked bored.

Kay Erik clapped his hands slowly.

"Bravo, monsieur, you must tell that story again sometime," he said gravely.

Gerry Phantom flushed and let go of Emmy Christine. "Well, the movie-audience liked it," he said defensively. "I couldn't even count how many catcalls that got from the teenagers."

"Anywhere you go let me go tooooooo," said Emmy Christine, misty-eyed and with that same indefinable expression on her face. "Phantom, that's all I ask of—"

Brightman Christine uttered a shriek of rage.

"ThAaAaAt'sSsSs myY LlIiIiIiIiNne!"

In vain, Crawford Phantom tried to restrain her. "No, no, Christine, it belongs to others as well—"

He was unable to, however, as Brightman Christine fought free of his arms and raced to Emmy Christine.

"DdoOo yOu aApoOlOoGize?"

Emmy Christine said, blankly, "What?"

Brightman Christine shrieked again, and punched Emmy Christine in the nose.

The two of them went down to the ground, scratching and fighting, clawing and biting, high flying adored— sorry, random "Evita" moment— I'll start again.

The two of them went down to the ground, scratching, clawing, biting, pinching, and basically just beating the crap out of each other. Crawford Phantom tried to stop them, to pull them apart. The other three were content to watch the show with evident enjoyment.

The noise attracted the attention of the rest of the Christines as well.

"Hey!"

"There's a fight going on!"

"Its Christine!"

"And Christine!"

"It is Christine and Christine!"

"Wait— I'm Christine!"

"No you're not, I am!"

"You aren't!"

"I am!"

"I am Christine!"

Quickly this laughable situation descended into danger— most of the Christines were relatively unbalanced anyway by this point, and when one of them lost it and hit another, the whole crowd did the same. Five hundred Christines began attacking each other— five hundred Eriks stood and watched, unsure of what to do.

Kay Erik and Leroux Erik turned to Gerry Phantom, who was giggling diabolically to himself.

"What is your problem?" Kay Erik demanded.

Gerry Phantom chose to answer in song. "In all my fantasies— I always knew— that—"

Kay Erik heaved a disgusted sigh. "Honestly, man, call yourself a Phantom? Where do those casting directors get off, allowing someone barely out of puberty to don the mask?"

"But—" said Gerry Phantom, looking somewhat confused, "I thought that a perverse enjoyment of warped displays of physicality went along with the whole creepy-madman vibe that I'm supposed to be giving off."

"It doesn't mean you have to behave like a lunatic," Kay Erik snapped.

"Oh, doesn't it?"

"No!"

Gerry Phantom opened his mouth and kept it like that for a second, but, being unable to think of an adequate reply, he closed it again and folded his arms in a huff.

Crawford Phantom finally succeeded in detaching Brightman Christine from Emmy Christine— the younger one had been getting decidedly the worst of the deal, and was glad (it seemed, though it was hard to tell) to get off the ground and run to the comforting embrace of Gerry Phantom. He wrapped his arms around her and favoured her with a smile. Her response to this was so extreme that he eventually found it necessary to move several feet away from her, rubbing at his neck.

"Isn't there some sort of phan-phiction where Christine is a vampire—" he muttered to himself.

Kay Erik regarded him in distaste. "What _is_ that on your neck?"

Gerry Phantom rubbed harder, pulling a small mirror from his cloak and examining the red mark left by Christine. "Holy crap!" he said.

Kay Erik resisted the urge to kick him.

"That is the biggest hickey I have ever seen!" Gerry Phantom looked in some admiration at Emmy Christine, who was smiling shyly. "Congratulations, babe— well done! That is amazing! I knew I should have invested in turtlenecks."

Emmy Christine shrugged slightly and shuffled her feet.

"You two are disgusting, you really are," observed Kay Erik. Gerry Phantom turned a Look on him.

"Listen, in case you haven't figured it out by now, the entire story is all about— love."

"Love?" repeated Kay Erik.

"Yes. Love. The Phantom wants to— love Christine. Christine wants to— love the Phantom. The fop wants to— Christine. Carlotta wants to love— everybody. It's the whole point of the story."

"Forgive me," said Kay Erik icily, "but I had a bit more plot than that in my background."

"Ah yes. Your story was mostly about killing, with a bit of— love in between deaths."

"I resent that!" snapped Kay Erik. "However, I see where you're coming from, and so you are forgiven."

Gerry Phantom sighed sharply. "There you go again, being all four-dimensional! I have asked you to stop that."

"It is beyond my power to remove part of my character!" said Kay Erik. Gerry Phantom made a "blah blah blah" gesture with his hands and rolled his eyes.

Leroux Erik, who had remained mostly silent throughout this whole thing, suddenly stood up straight and yelled, "Christiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine!"

From across the room there was an answering, "Eriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiik!" and then the Real Christine rushed into Leroux Erik's embrace. Her forehead was bloody.

"I've been trying to get to you for hours!" she exclaimed. "I attempted to bash the door in with my head, and then some kindly phan-phiction Christine thoughtfully showed me how to use the door-knob. I shall be forever grateful to her for allowing me to reach you— Erik— my Erik!"

All was peace and harmony between the two of them, except for the tears, and then Gerry Phantom stiffened and said, "Which phan-phiction Christine was this, then?"

Real Christine looked at him and said, "Why, I believe it was Weak Willed Christine, as a matter of fact."

About twenty Eriks were close enough to hear her words— at the sound of them they all groaned. Gradually the crowd stilled, and looking to the far side of the room, they beheld a small, dark-haired figure dressed in an extremely revealing costume, wearing raccoon-like eyemakeup, and a dazed expression, as though she too had been banging her head against a wall. She heralded the arrival of the phictionalized Christines, an event to dread for all Eriks—

Gazing wide-eyed at the masked men who stood in front of her, she gave a quiet shriek and said, "Heaven! At last, I have reached heaven! It is before me! All of you! Come to me! I have come back to you! At last! At last! At least— "

Moving towards them, arms open wide, she tripped over a stone and fell with a splash into the lake, where she continued to shout, causing bubbles to ripple the lake's surface. The Christines gradually stopped fighting— the Eriks gradually stopped watching— Weak Willed Christine gradually stopped floundering in the water—

And all eyes were on the horde Phictionalized Christines, who stood silent just inside the entrance of the lair. Even worse, they were accompanied by their respective Authoresses and Writers— the hardcore Phangirls.

The Real Eriks and Christines drew breath together.

Oh, horror!

Could nothing save them now?

**A/N: Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-hic! (Gerry's hiccups are catching, apparently)**


	3. Episode III The Return of the Muffin

Only a few replies, this time:

**phantomzgerl**: Ah, so now I'm abnormal, am I:) Well, you're not the first to have noticed...

**Solitaire-Me**: Yeah, I'm taking it longer... it was meant to be just a one-shot, but with the great reviews I'm getting, I don't think I can let it go quite yet...

**LadyKate1**: Thank you! You called it a classic! Thank you so much!

**Tango1**: Fops in the next chapter... maybe...

**YoukoElfMaiden**: 500 was just a random number I picked. There is an Erik for every Christine, or Christine equivalent. I made it that many because I'm including every different stage-Phantom in along with the movie Phantoms and books and everything else...

**sparklyscorpion**: Ah, the longest review I have ever gotten, thank you SO much! And I think someone did kick Gerry to make him reach those notes... it just cracks me up so bad every time I see or hear it. I laugh through the rest of the MotN sequence... it's awful.

**MindGame**: according to the reviews, EVERYONE thinks Brightman wobbled too much! Er... her voice, that is...:)

**Christine Persephone**: I hope you love it, not hate it... cuz hate is bad, y'know... and most of this chapter is written based on your review, so I guess you deserve a **CHAPTER DEDICATION!**

**VegaOfTheLyre**: Comedy is harder than angst, but its also funner and more rewarding. Well, except for phics like "Demons" and "An Eternity of This" which have like five zillion reviews...(grumble)

**Mandy the O**: Maaaaaandy! Updaaaaaaate!

**Adison**: can it be carrot cake? I like carrot cake.

**Phan-phic writers: If you want a mention in the next chapter, let me know. Especially you PFNers, you can tell me on PFN if you want... I soooo look forward to wreaking havoc with the cadre of PFN phic-writers... (evil giggle)**

**Chapter Three**

Could nothing save them now?

Let us examine that question.

Better yet, let us let the Eriks examine that question.

"Oh nooo," moaned Crawford Phantom, "can nothing save us now?"

There was a pause while everyone thought about this.

"No," said Kay Erik. "Nothing. Except— wait, what's this switch?" He lunged wildly at something beyond their eyesight.

"What switch? Where?" said Gerry Phantom, whirling expectantly.

"No, I was only joking," said Kay Erik. "Nothing can save us after all."

Crawford Phantom chuckled obediently, Leroux Erik lapsed from his liplock with Real Christine long enough to make a despairing groan, and Gerry Phantom was silent for a moment before saying, "I don't get it."

Kay Erik heaved a sigh. "It was a joke," he said. "In bad taste, I admit."

"Alright, but I don't see how it was a joke."

"I pretended there was something to save us when in fact there wasn't," said Kay Erik patiently. "God, I _hate_ having to explain myself! And having to explain myself to another _version_ of myself— that, frankly, is just downright embarrassing."

"Okay," said Gerry Phantom, frowning, "but how was that a joke?"

"It was just irony! Irony, you ought to recognize irony. What do you call it when you go to burn your mother's house down only to find that she died three days ago?"

There was a general brow-furrowing on the part of every Erik in earshot, and most of them said, "What?"

"Irony! That's what you call it! Irony!"

"And irony is supposed to be funny, is it?" said Gerry Phantom, brow savagely furrowed.

"Yes!"

"Oh."

"Can nothing save us now?" reiterated Crawford Phantom, to bring them back to the issue at hand.

"Yes, that switch," said Gerry Phantom before anyone could stop him. Leroux Erik broke from his kiss with Real Christine and bashed Gerry Phantom over the head with his shoe.

"I am not insane!" he howled.

"Eriiiiik!" said Real Christine.

He returned his attention to her immediately. "The angles wept tonight, my dear—"

"The _angles?_" said Crawford Phantom alertly.

"Sorry, typo," said the writer, whom everyone ignored.

The horde of Phic Christines and their Keepers stood just inside the door and gaped at the Eriks with hungry eyes. At the moment they were too stunned by the presence of their beloveds to move, but the Eriks knew this wouldn't last.

Crawford Phantom asked quietly, "Is this hell, then?"

"Life is hell," said Kay Erik. "Don't ever let anyone tell you any different."

Crawford Phantom rolled his eyes. "And this from one of the few versions that actually got to do it with Christine—"

"That was supposed to be a secret!"

"I don't know," said Gerry Phantom. "I always thought hell was a place where people were doomed to repeat all five thousand identical verses of 'Masquerade.'"

"Oh yes, that's right. I forgot."

"Masquerade?" said Kay Erik irritably.

"It's a song," said Gerry Phantom. "You'll find it listed in the Bible right after the other ten plagues." He then ducked and looked around as though he expected to find Andrew Lloyd Webber coming after him with a whip.

"Why," demanded Kay Erik, still irritably, "did you do that—" He imitated the ducking.

"Because I expected to see Andrew Lloyd Webber coming after me with a whip," said Gerry Phantom frankly.

"What? Why?" said Crawford Phantom, spreading his arms in a well-practiced gesture that was big enough to be seen at the back of the lair— he'd been theatre-trained, and most of his movements were exaggerated.

"Because every time I complained about the music, he would hit me with a whip— I thought it was a game at first, but then he started raising welts, so I stopped changing the words of "Music of the Night."

"What did you change them to?" demanded Crawford Phantom, but Gerry Phantom only blushed.

"He didn't hit Christine, though— he said she was too valuable."

Slowly their gazes were drawn back to Emmy Christine, who stood with her usual expression and her mouth gaping open. Brightman Christine, while she hadn't had time to inflict real damage, had managed to give her a black eye, but as Emmy Christine's eyes were slathered in makeup anyway it didn't really show. She looked the same as always— and there was a morbid fascination to the Look, like rubber-necking at a car wreck.

"I'll bet," said Kay Erik slowly and speculatively, "that she could fit an entire blueberry muffin in there without noticing."

The other Eriks nodded slowly.

Gerry Phantom looked around. "Got any blueberry muffins in this place?"

"I am not insane!"

"Do you ever say anything other than that, Erik?"

"I have no blueberry muffins!"

"I guess that answers that question."

There was a bit of a pause. Then Leroux Erik shouted, "I have lemon poppyseed ones!"

There was a general chorus of , "Ah, that'll work," from the other Eriks, Gerry Phantom rubbing his hands together in a businesslike manner.

"Fetch forth the muffins, then, my good man, if you please, so to speak, as it were— I've always wanted to try this."

Kay Erik glared at him. "It was my idea!"

"Well, actually, I had wondered something of the sort, during filming, but never plucked up the courage to ask her, really."

"It was still my idea!"

"Fine," said Gerry Phantom, sighing, "whatever."

"Don't give me 'whatever.' It was my bloody idea!"

Leroux Erik returned silently with the muffins and offered them to Gerry Phantom. Kay Erik pushed Gerry Phantom out of the way, still glaring at him, and took the muffin plate himself. Choosing an exceptionally large one, he picked it up and began to inch it towards the cavern that was Emmy Christine's exceptionally large mouth.

All would have been doom and muffins for Emmy Christine had this experiment been allowed to continue, but at that moment the spell that had been holding the Phans and Phictionalized Christines transfixed was broken, and they began to rush forward into the lair.

Chaos ensued.


	4. Episode IV The Phangirl Menace

Another chapter, another hundred review replies...

**YoukoElfMaiden**: you can be in anyway, if you want, as a plain and simple phangirl— or you can be one of my minions. I can't promise good pay, but there's dental, and its always interesting. The, uh, job, not the dental.

**Rooklyn**: So are you. (takes the muffin basket back)

**Neonn**: I actually have no idea which other characters are going to show up, beyond Raoul. So all I can say is, keep tuning in... should be a surprise. For all of us.

**MetaChi**: Hey! I'm so excited about Hitch Hikers, I think I'll just do a little fangirl squee right here... SQUEEEEEEEEE! Okay, that kind of got out of hand. I saw the trailer they had on Amazon, but that had not Marvin-talking...

**EriksAngel1870**: That idea was so brilliant beyond brilliant that I am including it, and you know what that means... **CHAPTER DEDICATION FOR YOU!**

**Adison:** I do too like carrot cake. But, I admit, mostly because of the cream-cheese frosting. If I ever get married, my wedding cake is having cream cheese frosting. I swear by Erik's left-handedness. And the irony discussion is actually me, talking to my sister and niece and nephew... not the brightest children, all of them.

**bundles-'o-joy**: wow, I have never been sworn at in a good way. So, um, thanks for the sentiment, I guess...

**Mandy the O**: I update more than you do. THIS IS WRONG! Thank you for making Erik pout in the last chapter... it gave me an ideeeaaa... :)

**La Foamy**: Yeah, chapter titles. Can't beat Star Wars ripoffs for chapter titles.

**Musique et Amour**: I know you're only briefly mentioned in this one, but trust me, I have plans for you, my lovely PFN pretend-husband... (rubs hands together and cackles evilly)

**EmailyGirl**: Another Hitch hikers fan! You automatically rock! And I plan on having a Gerry vs. Crawford sing-off not too far from now...

**A/N: I've been having fun messing around with all you phic writers out there. I have to say, I am not in this, for the simple reason that I was the punjabbed phangirl on top of the pile in the first chapter. But here is the list of the ones I caught— the Maiden Amorisa (AKA mistressphantomshadow), Mandy the O, ElfLover, Musique et Amour (AKA Masque de Nuit), EriksAngel1870, JJC Beowulf, Willow Rose, and bundles 'o joy**.** I know there's more of you but I'll have to catch you in the next chapter. I have the terrible feeling that this phic is going to become a kind of running inside-joke— I must keep that from happening. On the other hand, Mandy is really going to like this chapter. Or— maybe not— **

**Chapter Four**

There was a sound like the rushing of the wind, or the crashing of the ocean— a sound which was, in fact, caused by the pitter-patter of little Phic-Christine feet.

Most of them were on leashes, which helped. The trouble was that none of the Phic-Writers were held back by anything but self-respect, which was, unfortunately, in short supply. The Eriks quickly found themselves being swamped by adoring females.

About fifteen of the various stage-Eriks were quickly taken hostage by a small and determined group of writers with pistols— they swarmed grimly around the terrified Eriks with guerilla-like moves and gorilla-like faces. It was the opinion of Crawford Phantom that the majority of the Writers were not exactly attractive.

He made the mistake of voicing this opinion, and was immediately pounced upon by Mandy the O, who flung a punjab around his neck and pulled him close.

"You don't love Christine," she hissed at him. "You love Genn. GENN, I TELL YOU!"

"Who," inquired Crawford Phantom, "is Genn?"

"My other woman."

"Your other woman?"

"My other woman."

"If she is _your_ other woman, than what am _I _doing in love with her?"

Mandy frowned at him. "Forget it, you're the wrong Erik anyway—" She looked around a bit and located Gerry Phantom, who had recognized her and was edging away surreptitiously. "Gerik! Come here, if you please."

"I don't want to," said Gerry Phantom, taking another step away.

In a trice, or possibly a thrice, the punjab had settled around his neck and he was hauled bodily up against Mandy, who was surprisingly strong for being little and cute.

"You love Genn," she told him firmly. "Genn. Not Christine. Genn."

Gerry Phantom shrugged. "I love everybody."

"No! You love Genn!"

"Whatever you say, madame."

"You love Genn and you are going to court her and not have sex anymore!"

"What?" said Gerry, looking bewildered, hurt, and rather disappointed. "Why not?"

"Because I said so!"

Gerry Phantom pouted. Most of the Phanphic Writers gave squeals of appreciation. Mandy the O looked proud.

"Rather bossy, aren't you?" said Gerry Phantom.

Kay Erik rolled his eyes. "Listen, you little punk, I've only been aware of the existence of these so-called Phic Writers for a very short time, and even I realize that they are quite possibly the bossiest creatures around."

Gerry Phantom looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "Did you just call me a little punk?"

Kay Erik scowled, folded his arms, and tried to look at the ground, but found that his line of vision was everywhere taken up by the Phic Writers and their attendant Christines.

"No, I'm not offended or anything," Gerry Phantom went on, "I just think it's a side-effect of being around all these Phictionalized Christines— and also it is rather funny."

"Phunny," said one of the Phic Writers.

"No, funny."

"Phunny."

"No, funny."

"Phunny."

"This argument shows every sign of going around in irritating circles for a very long time," interrupted Kay Erik, "as both of the participants have comparable levels of intelligence."

"Hey!" said Gerry Phantom, "did you just call me stupid?"

The Gerry Phantom Phangirls, which comprised a good fifty percent of the invading force, squealed in distress. Squealing was the basic reaction to everything, it seemed.

"Hey, he is not stupid!"

"He is in fact very intelligent!"

"He was training to be a lawyer before he became an actor!"

Crawford Phantom frowned. "And that is proof of his intelligence _how_, exactly?"

There was a small period of silence. Then Mandy the O broke it.

"Because he decided to drop it and become an actor!"

The other Writers chimed in.

"Yeah!"

"That!"

"What she said!"

Crawford Phantom held up his hands for silence, which, after a few moments and a few meaningful threatening glances, he eventually got. "But becoming an actor is not the wisest choice he could have made, and so I pose my question again— how is his trying to be a lawyer, failing, and setting his sights on acting proof of his good sense?"

Another pause.

"He is not stupid!"

"He's very smart!"

"Ah," said Crawford Phantom, putting down his hands and turning to his fellow Eriks. "It would appear that these Phic Writers share certain tendencies with the Fop, in that, when faced with a situation they cannot adequately handle, they resort to repetition of whatever it was they were saying in the first place."

"Some of them are kind of cute, though," remarked Gerry Phantom, smiling at Willow Rose, who blushed and loosened her hold on the leash for a dangerous moment— immediately that she let go, her Christine bounded off to find her version of Erik, which took some time. Eventually she did, however, and the two lived happily ever after in what would have been a heart-warming story had not the Phic Christine been crushed to death shortly afterwards in a freak accident involving a large piano dropped from a considerable height.

Leroux Erik looked about him, still holding onto Real Christine. "The lair is getting crowded," he murmured. "Shall we retire to another room, my dear?"

Real Christine did a disastrous attempt at a simper. The blood on her forehead was finally beginning to dry and she looked far, far more insane than her fictional counterpart.

"Which room has the bed?"

"Hey," said Emmy Christine, who had been contemplating the muffin in wide-eyed wonderment, much as she contemplated everything in wide-eyed wonderment. "I have a thought!"

Very slowly, everyone turned to look at her.

"Well," said Kay Erik genially, "this is quite an unexpected development. Pray enlighten us, child."

There was a bit of a pause while Emmy Christine turned her Look from Kay Erik, who frightened her (not that you could tell) to Gerry Phantom, whom she loved (see previous parentheses). She opened her mouth slightly wider, paused quite audibly, then shook her head.

"No. Lost it."

There was a disappointed sigh from the Eriks.

"That is too bad," murmured Kay Erik. "I was quite looking forward to that."

There was another sad pause while everyone looked around at each other, unsure of what to do. Emmy Christine had quite a talent for unsettling people and distracting them from their normal activities. Gerry Phantom clearly relished this quality, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her forehead.

"That reminds me," said Mandy the O, tightening the punjab and beginning the long, slow process of detaching Emmy Christine's clutching hands from various parts of Gerry Phantom's anatomy, and vice versa.

ElfLover shrugged. "Okay, everybody, back to your Erik-stalking," she called, and the chaos ensued.

Just to illustrate the wide view of what was going on in the lair, let us focus first on the movie Eriks: they were being stalked by a small and ruthless group of Phic Writers and their Christines or Christine-equivalents, who were obviously determined to make the silent movies not so silent, and the slasher movie a little less bloody and a lot more romantic.

The stage Eriks were being systematically rounded up and seduced. Hugh Pinaro in particular was having a problem keeping his trousers from being ripped to shreds.

And our four Main Eriks were now surrounded by Mandy the O, the Maiden Amorisa, EriksAngel1870, bundles o' joy, EmailyGirl, Willow Rose, Musique et Amour, and JJC Beowulf, who was looking even more freaky than normal. These named Phic Writers had crazy gleams in their eyes as they looked hungrily at the Eriks— except for Musique et Amour, who as the lone male Writer in the room was gazing speculatively at all the females that surrounded him and contemplating his own, qualified stalking possibilities.

To make matters worse, and also far more entertaining, the Phic Eriks chose that moment to rush shrieking into the room, carrying punjabs and assisted by a haywire fog machine, hoping that more chaos would ensue. They were rather disappointed to find that rather a lot of chaos was already going on, and thus they were unable to make quite the impact they had hoped. However, they began to find their way to their masters and mistresses, glaring at each other and staring eagerly at the Christines, one of which started going into labor at that moment.

"She's having a baby!" cried her attendant Writer. "Quick, get Erik, he's the father!"

The blank looks of confusion on the faces of basically everyone was not encouraging, as a few of the Eriks started forward shyly, only to stop and glare at each other.

"Hey," mused one of the Writers, "that's not a bad idea, really—"

"No," agreed another, "it could really boost reviews."

Another Christine spontaneously began to go into labor, despite the fact that she hadn't been pregnant up until five seconds ago. Most of the occupants of the lair found this incredibly disturbing, but a few more Writers took it as encouragement, and pretty soon the Phic Christines were dropping like flies and the air resounded with the screams of the newborns, all of which, of course, were perfectly formed and had Erik's (it didn't matter which one) blue eyes.

Most of the Eriks clapped their hands over their ears at the noise.

"This is terrible!" snapped Kay Erik. "I cannot believe that my home has been invaded in this manner. It was bad enough when it was endless versions of myself— now we have the Christines as well, and it is absolutely unbearable." He glared at a nearby Christine, who held her baby in her arms and was cooing at it. "A lair is quite an unsuitable place to have a child anyway."

"It's only because of the Phic Writers," Gerry Phantom explained. "They started it."

"Oh yes?" said Crawford Phantom with a short laugh, pointing at Emmy Christine. "How do you explain that?"

Emmy Christine looked up from the bundles she held in her arms, her eyes shining with joy and her mouth, predictably open. "Oh, Phantom!" she cried. "They have your eyes— all three of them!"

"Eyes?" shouted Gerry Phantom, the color draining from his face as terror replaced his habitual smirk. "_They have three eyes_?"

"No, silly! They have two eyes."

"But— how many of them are there?"

"Three."

"But—"

"I believe what your, ahem, Christine is trying to explain," interposed Crawford Phantom, "is that you now have three children, in possession of two eyes each, which comes to a total of six eyes. Now, should each of the children have been born with three eyes, there would be, of course, a total of nine—"

"For pity's sake, hush, man!" shouted Gerry Phantom. "You're confusing me."

Crawford Phantom sniffed. "Doesn't take much, does it?"

Gerry Phantom crossed over to Emmy Christine and stared down at her— or, to be more precise, at the three babies she held in her arms. "You had— three of them? Were you— had you— but we never—"

"I know," she said dreamily. "But you behold the power of fiction— even though we never did it—"

"Not really, anyway," murmured Gerry Phantom.

"We still have children because it was meant to be."

"But why three?"

Emmy Christine was unable to come up with an answer to that, and simply stood with her mouth open. Wide. Kay Erik took over.

"I can only assume that some phic writer— possibly one who is orchestrating this whole disastrous scenario— went a bit overboard. Perhaps they thought it would be funny," he added as an afterthought.

"But why three?" murmured poor Gerry Phantom, now a broken man.

"Its alright," said Emmy Christine, mouth open. "With the power of our love, we shall overcome all obstacles."

"But," said Gerry Phantom again, "how am I supposed to support three— can't you pass them off as Raoul's, or something?"

"What?" said Emmy Christine.

"I mean, well, you are married to him— and blood tests haven't been invented yet, he'd never have to know—"

"But, Phantom, these children are so obviously your's— they're so beautiful—"

"Well, yes, there is that—"

"I predict," said Crawford Phantom, "that at any moment now the omnipotent presence who has thrown us all together here in this lair beyond the lake will grow tired of this endless back-and-forth between you two and decide to make something interesting happen."

"I don't believe anyone can know the future," said Kay Phantom, four-dimensionally.

"I knew you were going to say that," said Crawford Phantom triumphantly, folding his arms and looking smug.

There was clearly only two things to do at this point, and the writer chose to do the less intelligent but more interesting one.

"Send in the Raouls," said Random Battlecry to her minions, and the echoing cry was heard for miles.

"_Send in the Raouls_!"

"Send in the Raouls!"

"_Send in the Raouls_!"

"**Send in the Raaaaaoulllllsssss**!"

Random smiled to herself. "It's good to have minions—"

At that moment, the chaos which had ensued at the end of the last chapter, ensued again, only bigger this time, and with fops.


	5. Episode V Attack of the Fops

**I'm going to reply to everyone, because I'm nice! Except of course when I'm not nice, and when I'm evil, but that is another story, which someday I will probably write. However, when I can't think of anything interesting to say to your review, I am going to pick a random phrase to put instead. Have fun figuring out which is which... :)**

**Estee W**: I healed your headache? (looks down at own hands in awe) Awww... oops wrong kind of awe. Wow.

**sparklyscorpion**: Would you like to be the official Raoul-protector? I can confer those kinds of titles. you know, the kind that doesn't actually mean anything and that you can put on PFN in your signature... "Official Raoul-Protector, as conferred by Random," that sort of thing.

**Rue Marie**: The consensus seems to be, do not read this in a public place. (shrug)

**babymene17**: Yess the Raouls...

**THELadyRedDeath**: One more word: Thanks.

**Baffled Seraph**: Sure Dario Argento is there, all versions are there, I just can't write them all in cuz I've never even heard of most of them...

**NightFallsSoftly**: The elephant in the cardigan wants his chewing gum back.

**flamingices**: You are hereby added to my list of people in the phic. Do you want to be a Gerry phan, Crawford Phan, Kay phan, Leroux phan... say the word. And gimme my muffin.

**Dimac99**: I'm so pleased people are getting the Mandy inclusions and everything... wow Mandy you must be incredibly popular... as if you didn't know that already, what with your five zillion reviews... (grumble)

**LuvinLivnReadn**: Another thing, along with not reading this in public— don't read it when you might wake people up. (shrug) Someone ought to make a rule-book...

**Velf**: They have triplets... BECAUSE. It was a running joke on PFN... Seriously you people should go there. Its becoming vital to understanding anything I write. They encourage me, they squee for me, one of them married me... wonderful place.

**Misty Breyer**: Snarkiness is a great word. Thank you. You are now a minion. Rejoice in your minion-ness. I'll be posting a list on my bio.

**Tango1**: The three eyes part cracked me up harder than anything... why? I kept asking. Why why why?

**Willow Rose**: Yes he did! And I get to hug Erik? Aww... thank you. So where's the update then?

**Favourite:** Ah, a Raoul-fan. (discreetly checks Favourite off the list of people she's best friends with) No, no, I'm kidding. Even the fop must have fans. I guess. :)

**EriksAngel1870**: Thank you for cowering... you can get up now. :)

**EmailyGirl**: I talk in foreign accents without thinking all the time! I think I was meant to have been born in England, and not in Redding, California. There's something so unglamourous about my accent...

**The Maiden Amorisa**: Don't look down while ascending a ladder, you might trip over the stars and then where would you be?

**Songwind**: I knew a man once named Fred— he's dead now. I didn't kill him, but I went to his funeral.

**YoukoElfMaiden**: A minion you are then.

**ChristineX**: Glad I made you laugh! Your story is awesome...

**La Foamy**: What I'd really like to see? Gerry Phantom, Crawford Phantom, and Kay Erik doing "Three-Headed Opera Star." (wicked laugh)

**Musique et Amour**: Dear Erik, you get a **CHAPTER DEDICATION **for letting me make fun of you. Oh, wait, you didn't know I was going to make fun of you. Then you get a chapter dedication for not suing me. At least I didn't use your last name... :)

**Mandy the O**: Oh dear, Erik and Genn are on the organ bench again. Shoot and after I just gave them a lecture on modesty! Erik, would you button your trousers please. Thank you. Erik, put Genn down. Erik! Put Genn down _now_ and back away slowly! Erik! No, not the pout! Anything but the pout!

**ENTR'ACTE**: Men in Tights? TIGHT tights? Matthew Porretta? Swoon.

**VegaOfTheLyre**: You finally show up in this one... happy?

**ElfLover**: Your favourite humour phic? Ever? (very cool) That's pretty good... (dancing inside)

**Angelus Musici**: Evil is stirring in Mordor. Sauron is making a cake.

**Christine Persephone**: Three eyes! What did I tell ya, three eyes! It's the best bit in the whole chapter!

**phantomzgerl**: Another minion! Yay! I'm racking them up now... now that I'm famous...

**Renee17**: I am only four foot seven. You'd think by now my body would have said, Hey, I'm sick of being short my whole life, I'm gonna grow some. But nooooo. Apparently I have to make up for it by having a dry wit, an evil side, a cruel streak, and semi-ambidextrousity— oh, no _way_ is _that _ever a word.

**Killthefop**: Oh man do I ever love your name. Oh man are you ever going in here to be the Chief Overseer of Fop Killing (another meaningless title that I can confer.)

**A/N: A nice long chapter. Stalker Erik from PFN is gonna like this one... :) For all of you who aren't in this and who don't post on PFN, tell me if its getting to in-jokey to understand and I'll tone it down a little. Maybe I'll do a PFN version and a FF version... nah. Just let me know what I'm doing wrong. In the nicest way possible, of course.

* * *

**

**Chapter Five**

In case you're just joining us, lets have a quick recap of the situation.

Leroux Erik was enjoying a nice cup of tea and angst in his lair, which was abruptly inundated by several hundred other versions of himself, followed by several hundred versions of Christine, followed by several hundred versions of Phictionalized Christines along with their Writers, followed by several hundred versions of Phictionalized Eriks, followed by the Raouls, both Phictionalized and Real, for, of course, a given value of real.

Got that?

Oh, good.

As the Raouls rushed haphazardly into the lair, half the Eriks froze, wide-eyed, and the other half immediately began to contemplate ways to kill the fops.

A few of these were put into action with commendable rapidity, and it wasn't until ten fops had bit the dust that the Writers were able to bring the carnage to a halt. Most of them didn't try very hard, as a matter of fact.

Two Raouls made their way to the little group of Main Eriks and Christines, fighting their way past the ring of Writers that surrounded them. These two intrepid pony-tailed adventurers were Raoul from the original book, AKA Leroux Raoul, and Raoul from Susan Kay's novel, AKA Kay Raoul. Stage Raoul had, thankfully, apparently perished in those few delightful moments of fop-killing in the last paragraph.

Kay Erik and Kay Raoul glared at each other.

"As I'm four-dimensional," said Kay Erik, "in my infinite four-dimensionalism, I will decide not to kill you at the moment. Hundreds of Phic-Writers will thereafter muse on what was going through my head."

Kay Raoul said, "I've had your child."

There was a general chorus of guffaws from the Eriks and Writers alike, and Slash reared its ugly head for a moment (being quickly kicked in the groin and sat on by alert E/Cers) before Kay Raoul explained, "I mean, Christine had your child— I brought him up as if he were my own."

"Ha!" said Gerry Phantom, now cradling one of his three children. "So its not just me, now, is it?"

"How," inquired Emmy Christine breathlessly, "does one go about breast-feeding?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, though I imagine it has something to do with one's chestal area," answered Gerry Phantom. "Here, have another muffin."

"Can one eat muffins while breast-feeding?"

"One can," said Gerry Phantom, watching her with interest, "if one is reasonably coordinated. Oops," he added as the muffin hit the floor.

"Christine?" said Kay Erik, in an admirably bewildered tone of voice. "Christine had— my child?" He paused. "How?"

"In the usual manner," answered Kay Raoul, who was inclined to take things literally. "We feared for a while that she would have to undergo a caesarian section, as they call it... or do I mean salad?but—"

"No, I mean— how could she possibly have had my child? We never actually— I mean—"

"Ha!" said Gerry Phantom again. "Join the club."

There was a general chorus of agreement from the Eriks in earshot.

"You never did?" said Kay Raoul, looking bemused. "But— at the end of the book, I thought—"

"Oh, did you?" snarled Kay Erik, demonstrating his fully-developed-character-ness.

"Yes! I mean— that is— you spent the night together, did you not?"

"I—" said Kay Erik, and then paused. "Yes, I remember, she did stay by my side. But for God's sake, man, I was _dying_— what makes you think I had the energy to—"

"I don't know, but all this time I thought—"

"Well, you were wrong!"

"Well, its not _my_ child!"

"Well, it certainly isn't mine!"

They were silent for a while, staring at each other. Then they both yelled, "_Christine_—"

Gerry Phantom started laughing and couldn't seem to stop. Kay Erik advanced on him, ripped the punjab out of Mandy's hand, and began to choke him. Eventually the laughter stopped.

Leroux Raoul began to do what he did best— snivel.

"You're all so, so, so cruel and insane," he said, sniveling. He said it in French, however, so only Kay Erik and Leroux Erik understood. The French origin of the other Eriks had been, mostly, overlooked— most of them spoke with British accents, except for Gerry Phantom who, as has already been mentioned, spoke with a Scottish one. To give him credit, he was _trying_ to do a British one; he simply wasn't very good at it. The issue of how the film industry went from a French Phantom to a Scottish one isn't nearly as interesting as the issue of how the character went from being a horrifyingly-deformed hell-beast to an extremely good-looking man with a bad sunburn, and so shall be totally ignored.

Now, he looked blankly at Leroux Raoul and said, "What?"

"He wasn't talking to you," said Kay Erik tiredly. "Or rather, he was, but in a non-personal way." He glared at Kay Raoul. "It is quite lucky for you that this young usurper is here. With him to get on my nerves, the likelihood of my finding time to kill you is dramatically decreased."

"And, er," said Kay Raoul nervously, "that's good, is it?"

"Not really," growled Kay Erik.

"I say," said Crawford Phantom, "what happened to our version of Raoul? I didn't really mind the chap— I hope he has not come to harm—"

Wordlessly, Kay Erik pointed to the small pile of bodies that had been Raoul, versions 6, 9, 246, and 301-305.

"Oh dear," said Crawford Phantom irritably. "You're the one responsible for that massacre that went on, then?"

"Not exclusively. Leroux Erik helped some, as well."

Leroux Erik looked wildly about him before allowing a smile to cross his thin lips. Quickly Real Christine grabbed him by the hand and began pulling him towards the bedroom again.

There was, after a while, a rather interesting sub-plot going on in the room behind the rest of the Eriks, but they were focused on their own problems, and apart from knowing grins and a voyeuristic listening, they ignored it.

The Phic Writers, which group had grown bigger in the interval between the last chapter and this one because people keep saying they want to be in this story, surrounding our small band began to pay attention— no, not to the bedroom scene, to the fact that Kay Erik was admitting to killing some Raouls. They had no use for the Vicomte de Chagny except as a villain, monster, truncated plot point, or point-and-laugh purposes. Musique et Amour in particular perked up, as the lone non-fictional man in the lair—

"Are we killing fops, now? I'd like to help. I'd be good at it," he added anxiously, "I've done it a lot in my imagination."

A few of the nearer Writers edged away from him slightly.

"I do a lot of things in my imagination—"

They edged away further.

Crawford Phantom threw his hands up in the air. "Look, Kay Erik, killing stagehands named Buquet is one thing— killing the husband of my beloved Christine is quite another."

"I don't see what you're complaining about," grumbled Kay Erik. "It means that she is free to be with you, as she apparently wishes to be— though for the life of me I cannot imagine why."

"But she had a good life! I think," said Crawford Phantom, somewhat uneasily. He looked at Brightman Christine, who took a deep breath preparatory to making a long-winded speech. It was a bit too deep, as a matter of fact, and she knocked herself out from lack of oxygen before he could ask her exactly how good her life was. She slumped into his arms.

"Christines faint easily, don't they?" remarked EriksAngel1870 to no one in particular.

Crawford Phantom glared at Kay Erik. "Honestly! To think that another version of me would be such a cold-blooded murderer!"

Kay Erik snorted. "To think that another version of me could delude himself into believing that he himself _isn't_ a cold-blooded murderer—"

"Well, perhaps I've mended my ways! With the love of a good woman behind me—"

"MeeeeEEEeeEeEeEeEeEe?" inquired Brightman Christine, waking up.

"Yes, dear, of course you. Who else?"

Brightman Christine scowled and sang something.

"What did she say?" asked a breathless Writer (VegaOfTheLyre, in this case.)

"Well, roughly it translates as 'You were staring quite interestedly at some of those Phan-Girls,' though I can't imagine she meant it," said Crawford Phantom, frowning at Brightman Christine. She sang something else. "My dear, that was uncalled for!"

"What else did she say?" Another Phic Writer— flamingices this time.

"I'd rather not repeat it, as the language was a bit— strong." Crawford Phantom deepened his frown at his recalcitrant Christine. "I wasn't aware that you knew those words, dearest— I presume your fop taught them to you?"

"Ha!" said Kay Erik, and then scowled because Gerry Phantom had already said that twice already. "So it isn't just me who harbors resentment towards the Viscomte, hmm?"

"Yes, I daresay, but I didn't_ kill_ him— or any of them, for that matter."

"But you wanted to."

"But I didn't."

"But you wanted to."

"But I didn't."

"Would you, if you got the chance?" Kay Erik held out a punjab towards Crawford Phantom enticingly. Crawford Phantom looked at it, hesitated, and then sighed.

"Doesn't the phrase 'Live and let live' mean anything to you?"

"Yes," said Kay Erik acidly, winding the punjab around his arm again. "It tells me you are a cliche-spewing moron."

This made Crawford Phantom rather mad, and he dropped Brightman Christine onto the ground without ceremony and put up his fists. Kay Erik laughed at him.

"Honestly, my good man, here we are surrounded by fops and you want to fight a phantom! Obviously you are not thinking through the situation in a clear and rational manner."

"Well, I _am_ insane," offered Crawford Phantom with a shrug, keeping his fists up, and delivering an unexpected left hook to Leroux Raoul's face, because he wouldn't stop crying. The Writers clapped and cheered as Leroux Raoul hit the ground.

"I say we organize them all into a mass cock-fight," suggested Musique et Amour cheerfully.

The women surrounding him gave disgusted sighs at his typical male attitude, and then returned to staring speculatively at Gerry Phantom's biceps.

"He lifted Christine easily enough," ventured Mandy the O. "Do you think he could—"

"Should we ask him?" suggested Willow Rose. They exchanged glances.

"Yes!" shouted EmailyGirl, genuinely startling everyone around her.

And so the love-struck Phic Writers ventured forth and accosted Gerry Phantom with the following imposition.

"_Give us piggy-back rides_!"

Gerry Phantom looked up from his children, all three of whom now nestled in his arms. At the sight of the shining young faces of his Phangirls, a flirty grin appeared on his own countenance, and without ceremony he shoved the babies at Emmy Christine, who took them and began to try to rock them to sleep, despite the fact that she was standing up. She quickly lost her balance and fell over. Babies went flying everywhere.

Meanwhile, Crawford Phantom and Kay Erik were having a bit of a face-off, whilst Musique et Amour was quietly kicking the crap out of Leroux Raoul, who lay still prone on the ground.

"You're not really me," snarled Kay Erik. "I don't believe that any version of me could ever be such a pansy. Deep inside, I regret saying that."

"I regret it too," snarled Crawford Phantom too.

"But you didn't say it."

"Yes, but I _heard_ it."

"Where did Leroux Erik go?"

"Over there." One of the Writers pointed at Leroux Erik, who, having concluded activities in the bedroom, was now in a flush of triumph holding forth in a corner with Real Christine, systematically killing all the Raouls he could get his hands on.

"Whoo-hoo!" said Musique et Amour, then looked slightly embarrassed at the looks that the other Writers turned on him. "What, a guy can't whoo-hoo every once in a while? I play guitar, you know. I'm not bragging— its just a fact."

"You know," said Mandy the O through her teeth, "I don't even know what you're doing here. You're not a Phan-Girl— you're just a stalker."

"Guilty," said Musique, holding up his hands with a disarming smile.

"What would we call you anyway?" asked Adison. "I mean, since phangirl obviously doesn't fit, and phan-boy lends an image of plastic capes and acne. Do you write phan-phiction?"

"Poetry," admitted Musique, with a slight cough.

As if moved by some mysterious gravitational force, the eyebrows on the Phic Writers slid up, except for the Maiden Amorisa's, who couldn't do the one-eyebrow thing and was scrunching up her face with the effort. Musique hid a smile, then decided there was no reason to hide it, and laughed out loud.

"You laughing at me?" said the Maiden Amorisa, annoyed. "You're the one who writes poetry, buster. You're the one who's hanging out with a bunch of girls in the Phantom's lair. You _stalker_, you— you— _phan-man_!"

There was a brief period of silence that this kind of comment deserved, and then Musique et Amour said, "As to what I'm doing here— I bribed Random Battlecry."

"What with?" said Mandy suspiciously. "Because if it involves chocolate, you are out of here. I know your stalkerly ways."

"No, reviews actually."

The Writers digested this.

"You really know how to get to a girl," sighed Mandy, going all misty-eyed at Musique's romanticism. Musique gave an elegant bow.

"Who are you, anyway?" asked ElfLover curiously.

"I sign in under Musique et Amour— I'm on PFN as Masque de Nuit— and in real life, I—"

"Quit pausing," snapped Mandy, "its getting on my nerves."

"Really," agreed Bundles 'o Joy, "the suspense is killing me."

"Well— Erik."

They all did the eyebrow thing again, except of course for the Maiden Amorisa, who tried, failed, and said a bad word.

"Your name is— Erik?"

"Yes," said Musique, folding his hands behind his back. He did an admirable attempt at clicking his heels but failed miserably because he wasn't wearing shoes, succeeding only in hurting his feet. A brief wince later, however, he was fully recovered and smiling gently at the Phic Writers, who then began to laugh at him.

"Erik," repeated VegaOfTheLyre. "Your name is Erik."

"Yes."

"Right." Vega gave an undignified snort.

"No, really it is," said Musique, anxious to assure them. "It is— has been, for years— I'm not going to say how many years exactly, but— my name really is Erik."

"Right," said Vega again, and there was a chorus of snerks.

"What— why are you laughing?"

"Why would you expect us to believe your name is Erik?" asked Willow Rose, tearing her gaze away from the back of Gerry Phantom's head. "I mean, isn't that just the sort of thing a stalker with a Phantom fixation would say in order to lure us innocent Phangirls into his web of deception?"

"But—" said Musique, then finally got it and got a bit irritated. "I swear to you, it really is. Why would I make something up like that?"

"Who knows?" said phantomzgerl, spreading her arms. "You write poetry. There could be any number of reasons."

"Poetry!" chortled Sarah Crawford.

Eventually the guffaws faded out, but there was definitely a bit of tension between Musique and the other Writers.

"Well, what do you suggest you call me, then?" he finally snapped.

"Oh, no, we'll call you Erik— 'Erik,'" said Mandy the O.

"Oh, yeah, no problem— 'Erik.'"

"Would you kindly stop putting quotation marks around my name? Its bloody annoying!"

"Whatever— 'Erik.'"

"And don't think I can't hear you doing it!"

It was at this point that they realized about half the Raouls had been killed while they were fighting over this. With an obscure Moose-Lodge curse Musique et Amour abandoned his fellow Writers and rushed to assist— not, as they had thought, to protect the Raouls, but to get as many of his bloodthirsty urges out as he possibly could.

As he explained later, panting and with a worn punjab over his shoulder, it was the only sane thing to do.


	6. Episode VI Punjab With A Vengeance

**lossefalme2995: **Glad you like it, and welcome to the Random Reading Cadre! Just to let you know, if you give me an idea in the review (like you did) and I use it, you get a chapter dedication. I like to keep my reader's minds working for me.

**Tziporah: **No you're definitely not the only one to notice the single expression Emmy Rossum has in her repertoire. Everybody noticed. And I make fun of it. So. (shrug) Another Raoul fan, eh? Sorry, but Raoul has to die.

**VegaOfTheLyre**: Wow, I'm someone's favourite! Awesome! As for how I managed to make you all funny, well— (modestly) I had some _major_ characters to work with :) And I don't know for sure what my standing with Masque is. I could be his wife, could be his mistress, could even be his daughter... difficult to say. You'll have to ask him. And I _love_ that anyone who doesn't go to PFN will now be looking at this reply and going, "_What the—!_"

**Mandy the O**: Go ahead, Kay Erik is very glompable.

**EriksAngel1870**: Thanks. I kinda liked that sentence. And the question is on my mind a lot, needless to say.

**EmailyGirl**: Patrick Raoul is still alive... be patient, I have plans for him. Not good ones, but plans nonetheless.

**Mary Su**: I'll think about it. I mean, the Phic Christines _and_ Christine-equivalents (OWs and Mary Sues) are already in there but I may be able to cause some additional mayhem— if I think about it— wow, thinking about mayhem is fun!

**Killthefop**: Of course, there's plenty of Raouls for everybody. :)

**phantomzgerl:** why, thank you. (bows)

**bellasera**: You're welcome.

**ElfLover**: Leroux Erik rocks, doesn't he? (hugs him) My most favourite Erik ever— and you too may have a fop, thank you for asking. Though I doubt a true punjab would be lilac— but you never know.

**Willow Rose**: Just wait till you see_ this_ chapter... (evil chuckle)

**The Maiden Amorisa**: You said you wanted to get with Masque. (shrug) Don't blame me for the consequences. And thanks for the fifty dollars. Wish everyone were as generous as you.

**Songwind:** Your idea gave me the main theme of the second half of this chapter, which means you get a **CHAPTER DEDICATION! **Isn't that neat how it works?

**Mrs. Tom Riddle**: Glad you liked it!

**ChristineX**: Pool party coming up... kind of...

**Invader Vega:** You're only not in here because you didn't _ask_ to be in here... I can still put you in if you want. You and the other Vega can have identity confusion.

**Maggie**: Movie Raoul will show eventually. You know how he tends to be late—

**Librarian of the Deep**: I'll put you in! Its never too late.

**sparklyscorpion**: As official Raoul-Protector, your job starts now. :)

**Cold Fate**: No shot guns... just punjabs...

**Banana71588**: Everybody wants to kill the fop! There should be a video game made out of this.

**CelticHeart**: Sorry, I got mixed up as to people who wanted to be in. You're in now. And you can't get out. Mwa-ha-ha-ha-_hic_. Bloody hiccups.

**thomgondola**: It was my favourite chapter too... not too many incomprehensible in-jokes then? Ah good.

**Musique et Amour**: I _told_ you I had plans for you. (fiendish chuckle) Glad you liked chapter five, though, and decided not to sue me, and didn't get mad at me, and yes, now you will be Stalker Erik. I tried calling you "Stalker" for short but you know what? It didn't work. It needs the Erik to make it complete. (shrug) So there.

**A/N: Seeing as how most of this was written at one in the morning, with the assistance of carrot cake (yes, Adison, _carrot_ cake!) and Oasis, I think I can be forgiven. Please keep reading and reviewing, no matter how crappy the chapter is. Oh, and you will need to have read "A Pink Haze of Confusion" in order to truly make sense of most of this chapter. Sorry, but that's the way it is. You can find it on my author's bio page. Listed as "A Pink Haze of Confusion." Convenient, isn't it?**

**Chapter Six**

Bodies, bodies everywhere.

It wasn't just the work of the Eriks (including Stalker Erik, as he now decided he wanted to be called, in order to forestall more quotation marks around his name) that made things this way. Raouls are, by nature, stupid creatures, being only slightly above guinea pigs on the intelligence meter— and dumb guinea pigs at that— many of them blundered into the lake and, once having fallen face-first into the water, forgot how to breathe and drowned. Which is, really, quite sad, considering there was only a few feet of water in the lake in the first place.

The Christines took this whole-sale death of Raouls rather better than one might have thought. Yes, several of them did take hysterics and try to throw themselves after their drowning darlings; but by and large they were too busy staring at their respective Eriks to really notice.

Finally Leroux Erik, Kay Erik, and Stalker Erik who had decided to do his best to be one of the boys, came back to the rest of their group, spent with their effort but, on the whole, pleased.

Stalker Erik presented his fellow Writers with a huge grin.

The Writers looked at him sideways.

"I have killed a fop!" he announced. "Four, in fact. Its amazing— very liberating— I never knew a mere physical experience could be quite this exciting!"

There were several murmurs of, "I'll bet," and some side-step shuffling from the members of the Writing Cadre— Mandy the O, who did not particularly like Stalker Erik and made no secret of it, frowned at him.

"So what if you have," she said. "There's always more."

"You're just jealous," said Stalker Erik, and what made things worse was that he was right. Every single one of the Writers wanted their own fop to torture— except for one, sparklyscorpion, who stepped forward and gave Stalker Erik a shove.

"Why would you join in like that? It isn't as if they did anything to you!"

"What? Fops give manhood a bad name! The species must be eradicated."

Sparklyscorpion growled. "And I suppose you took scalps to prove your— your— shoot, what's the word I want? — butchness."

"Scalps?" repeated Stalker Erik in barely-disguised disgust. "Of course not. That would be barbaric." He whipped a bunch of hair out of his trouser pocket and held it up. "I cut off their ponytails," he said proudly.

There would have been an uproar at this, except that Leroux Erik and Kay Erik had apparently done the same thing, and were even now displaying their trophies to an appreciative audience of Gerry Phantom, Crawford Phantom, and their Christines. The Writer's attention was quickly diverted from the flushed and shining Stalker Erik to the Real (albeit fictional) Eriks. One might almost think that all this talk of Eriks was getting confusing to anyone who read it. One would know better, because if confusion were a deterrent, this story wouldn't have gotten past the second paragraph, which, as we all know, listed Leroux Erik's many pseudonyms, and then went on to muse on the general ickiness of life.

"Ponytail?" said Kay Erik genteely, offering one to Crawford Erik, who curled his lip and folded his arms. He walked off in a huff, and came back in a snit, and said,

"I suppose you think you're clever, don't you?"

"I know it," said Kay Erik coldly.

"Ha!" said Crawford Erik. "Well! Huh!" But unfortunately he hadn't thought any further than that and was unable to come up with something truly original, and so he threw his arms in the air and went to Brightman Christine for comfort.

"WheeeeeeEeEeEeErrrrrRRRRRRe haAaAaVE allLLllLlLlLlL the fFoOOoOoOoPSssssss goOoOnne?" she caroled at him.

"Some of them have died, my lovely, but never fear— it was not by my hand. I have changed my ways."

"YoOoOu didNNnNnN't kIiIiIilL OnEeE?"

"No, my dear, I did not. My hand remain free of bloodshed and reproach."

"WwhYyY nNnot?" demanded Brightman Christine, looking peeved. She then went on to sing something long-winded about the triumphant warriors coming home, bringing trophies to their waiting wives— it was convoluted, hard to understand, and rhymed, but just barely, and so it was an easy guess that it had been written by Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Crawford Phantom stared at her.

"You _want_ me to kill the fops?"

In order to facilitate the understanding of the reader, and in order to not irritate myself anymore by staggering capitals, I will translate Brightman Christine's remarks into easily-understood, non-vibrato, charmingly-italicized English.

"_Of course I want you to kill the fops— that is all I ever wanted— that was all I ever asked of you, my angel_!"

"That?" said Crawford Phantom, still staring at her blankly. "_That _was what you kept asking me during the musical?"

She nodded.

"Oh." A pause. "Well, I'm sorry, my dear, but I didn't understand."

Kay Erik came and stood by her, nodding slowly at Crawford Phantom. "She wanted you to kill the fop, didn't she?"

Crawford Phantom could only look at him, dumbfounded.

Brightman Christine sang something very hard and very loud. Kay Erik wiggled a finger in his ear and said, wearily, "Perhaps you could be just a bit louder next time, my dear— I'm a trifle deaf."

She unfortunately took him literally and a window five stories above them was, as a result, shattered. As they stood blinking and, in some cases, crying in the aftermath, Kay Erik said, "I was only joking. It was sarcasm, my dear, sarcasm."

"Wasted on my Christine," offered Crawford Phantom. "She doesn't have much of a sense of humour." He circled her with his arms and together they looked at some point of invisible air a few feet in front of their faces as though staring at an interesting bug that had unexpectedly started doing the hula.

"That's kind of funny, what I noticed before," said Hoshi thoughtfully. The rest of the Writers looked at her. Hoshi often came out with something completely unexpected. "But out of the whole opera, the only person with a sense of humour was the lunatic."

They all nodded slowly in tacit agreement.

Then Stalker Erik said, "So you think the whole thing was one big practical joke, then?"

"What? I didn't say that."

"No, I know, but— think about it— he's a guy who lives under the opera house and— _pretends_ to be insane. What if he was just _pretending_? As just a— practical joke? A josh? A jest? A gag? A jape? A prank? A trick? A caper? Although if you think about it, he definitely was a _caper_—" Stalker Erik chuckled fiendishly at his own pun before realizing that the rest of them were staring at him in barely-hidden irritation.

Except for The Maiden Amorisa, who abruptly and against all reason decided she was in love with him.

"This," said Hoshi quietly, "must be why you write poetry, and not stories."

"You know, for someone who claims to be named Erik, you certainly betray a lack of wit," commented bundles 'o joy acidly. Stalker Erik shrugged.

"Aww," said the Maiden Amorisa, pouting, "what a thing to say to a poor defenseless stalker."

"Its alright, I'm used to it," said Stalker Erik shortly, but the Maiden Amorisa had advanced on him and caught him by the arm.

"Tell me your life story," she said.

He looked at her quizzically.

"My life story?"

"Tell me how old you are."

"How old I am?"

"Tell me why you keep repeating everything I say."

"Everything you say?" She giggled diabolically and he went pale, turning towards the other Writers. "Hey, guys, a little help here—"

But they had become once again engrossed in the spectacle of four Phantoms bickering with each other, and ignored his pleas for help, for assistance, and then for mercy.

The four main Phantoms had split camps again, arguing over what was best to be done about the remainder of the Raouls, who had fled into the labyrinth, taking the last of the muffins with them. Kay and Leroux Erik were all for going after them— Gerry and Crawford Phantom wanted to stay where they were and make new muffins.

They were having an enjoyable shout about this when there came a deep, melting voice from the sidelines.

"Could not I be of assistance?"

They turned.

The sight that met their eyes was a sight indeed.

He looked exactly like Gerry Phantom, but for the small differences of the pink pin-striped suit, and the handlebar mustache which he was preening with his fingers. As they watched he slipped a monocle onto one eye and issued a short bow.

"Pink Haze Phantom at your service," he said.

The four Phantoms stared at him. There was clearly only one thing to say, and they said it, all at the same time.

"_What?_"

"A Phic Phantom," supplied CelticHeart, from behind them. "From 'A Pink Haze of Confusion.' Occasionally known as the Gay Phantom—"

"Though I'm not, I assure you," said PH Phantom, assuring them. The four Phantoms, however, did not look all that assured.

"And what is it that you think you would be able to help us with?" inquired Kay Erik, his voice dangerously soft.

"Er, the muffin issue, my good chap. Yes, yes, I hear you are running a bit short on muffins— and I determined to toddle over here and see what I could do about the situation."

"The muffins?" said Gerry Phantom alertly, just as Kay Erik repeated, "_Toddle_?" in tones of disbelief.

"Er, indeed," said PH Phantom.

"Good God," said Kay Erik, turning to Crawford Phantom. "He's like you, only a thousand bloody times worse."

"I have never been that bad," murmured Crawford Phantom, unable to take his eyes off the debacle, the fury, the fiasco, the disaster of epic proportions that was the pink suit. It was quite a piece of work. Elton John would have felt comfortable in it.

"I know, that's why I said he's worse," hissed Kay Erik. Crawford Phantom's ears were going numb from just being in the presence of such a color, though, and he couldn't hear it. He even missed most of what Brightman Christine when she sang something, and, much to everyone's regret, asked her to say it again.

She did. The floors rattled.

"Oh. He's a Phic phantom— a phictionalized version of myself. Well, not really myself, you understand. Just a different version of your typical angel of music, phantomy-figure, et cetera—"

She sang something else.

"Muffins, my dear."

"OoOh!"

"Yes," said Crawford Phantom with a wince.

Emmy Christine chose this moment to advance on the Pink Haze Phantom, arms spread wide.

"Will you be my Valentine?" she asked plaintively. "Gerry Phantom went off with Willow Rose and EmailyGirl, to give them piggy back rides. I'm a little worried because somehow he managed to be kissing both of them as they left— I suppose it helps that his lips are so big— true talent should not be denied— but I'm not _really_ worried because he loves me, he will come back for me—"

Eyes shifted to one corner, where Gerry Phantom was flirting with his two love-struck phans, and getting along famously.

"So I'm not really disfigured?" he was saying.

"Of course not," said Willow Rose fondly.

"It looks like a sunburn," put in EmailyGirl. "There have been all sorts of parodies on that theme."

"Really."

"Yes. You're famous, you know."

"_Really_—"

"He loves me," said Emmy Christine, mouth open. "He'll come back for me."

"But of course," said PH Phantom, bowing smoothly at her. Out of the side of his mouth he muttered, "Somebody get this girl a muffin."

"I had his children," Emmy Christine went on dreamily. "They're so beautiful— they're so lovely— they look exactly like him— and me, of course— even though we never actually— I told him to wait till I was legal— and then we had the triplets all of a sudden— I wonder where they are?"

Almost seeming to wake up, she frowned (still with her mouth open, an amazing feat which deserves applause) and began to look around for her abandoned children. It was not long before she discovered that they had been taken by some Phic Writers from the group of Movie Phantoms, who were desperate for a plot bunny. The three children were carted off, made to grow up instantly, and then stuck in a phic wherein they somehow made their way back to the Phantom, often after killing Raoul, or at least spitting in his face.

"Returning to the issue at hand," said PH Phantom, forcing everyone to drag their eyes away from the three in the corner and refocus on him. "Have you a kitchen?" he inquired of Leroux Erik.

"_A kitchen_—" breathed Leroux Erik, with random italics. "I do not eat— _for days, some times_— I live for my music— _my music is my breath_, my meat, my wine, my sleep, my—"

"Yes, yes, yes," interrupted PH Phantom unwisely, causing Leroux Erik to finger his punjab with anger in his eyes. "But do you have a _kitchen_, old boy, a kitchen. Preferably one done in white, though I am not adverse to working in yellow or colours of a generally lighter nature—"

There was an uncomfortable pause while everyone looked around them at the lair. It did not look likely to have a cheery kitchen.

"But perhaps I could adapt myself to, well, almost anything," said PH Phantom, with a wary smile.

Kay Erik nudged Leroux Erik. "Kitchen," he prompted.

Leroux Erik, breathing hard, his eyes glinting yellow in the sickly light, extended a shaky arm to point at one of the doors.

"Righto!" said PH Phantom, and headed towards it, rubbing his hands together. He'd not gotten ten steps when the punjab settled around his neck and then Leroux Erik was on his back, snarling in his ear, a madman consumed by rage— and all would have been over for PH Phantom, except that Kay Erik seized Leroux Erik by the shoulders and yanked him off, yelling, "No, man, we need the muffins! _Think of the muffins_, Erik— the _muffins!_"

Leroux Erik shook him off and stood, his narrow chest heaving, staring balefully at PH Phantom in a look that was universally recognized to mean _Your butt is mine, chucklehead_. If this had been a movie Leroux Erik would have started saying, "You wanna piece of me? You wanna _piece_ of _me_?"

But it wasn't, so he didn't, only stared after PH Phantom as the man in the pink suit finished his shaky way to the kitchens. He went in, the door closed behind him— there was a brief pause, and then a scream of terror.

"Black kitchen," whispered Crawford Erik, and Kay Erik nodded sagely.

"_Noooo blenderrrrrr_!" came the howl from the kitchens.

Kay Erik looked at Crawford Erik, who shrugged.

"That would have been my next guess."

And so, with the possibility of muffins, and the absolute determination not to let any Raouls escape alive, our intrepid heroes settled in for a long siege, surrounded by Christines and Writers and a general air of expectation.


	7. Episode VII Phantom Idol

**I'm sure I'm missing replying to some reviews... sorry about that, I'll catch you next time.**

**Musique et Amour: **Thank you for coming back and reviewing... it was only the one time.

**joanieponytail**: I think he deserved it too. In fact I think he deserved it with someone better than Christine, but hey, I'm just a phic-writer, what do I know.

**ChristineX**: Must think of somewhere to put the pool-party in. I will give you credit when I do.

**Neonn**: Everybody seemed to like the muffin comment... I may have started a muffin craze... wonder what I should apply my talents to next? Ho hum.

**longblacksatinlace:** The ending on the last chapter was more for people who read "Pink Haze." But definitely come to PFN. its fun there, we have muffins!

**Willow Rose**: Sure. Everybody who wants to kill a Raoul, kills a Raoul. (wonders about the blood-lust that Raoul seems to raise in people)

**Renee17**: Thanks for reviewing!

**flamingices:** Done.

**phantomzgerl**: I know it wasn't great though... sleep deprivation is okay if it leads to good reviews...

**EmailyGirl**: Huh, the WWC-Erik... hadn't thought about that... I may bring him in, though.

**Dimac99**: I have run out of Star Wars titles. must think of something ele to rip off...

**ElfLover**: No hospital bill! Nooooo!

**VegaOfTheLyre:** What, you don't like PH Phantom? That's it, I'm sending him over to your house to give you a makeover.

**YoukoElfMaiden**: Thanks for reviewing!

**Lamia**: WWC remains my favourite of everything I've written... glad you liked it and thanks for reading it.

**Melissa Brandybuck**: Okay, you're in. I can't resist puppy-eyes, I guess.

**The Maiden Amorisa**: thanks for the fifty bucks... again... nice to get paid...

**Jessica Darque**: no, I'm not cleolinda... wish I were, but I'm not. I can just steal her stuff and try to make my stuff funnier than hers so someday someone will go (to her) "OMG! Are you Random Battlecry!"

**Misty Breyer**: Thank you for wanting to be a minion!

**LuvinLivnReadn**: thanks for giving him a blender. I'm sure he'll be much happier now.

**Tay Yankovic**: Wow, I'm your first Phanfiction? I feel privileged! (puts on 'I Feel Privileged' hat) Douglas Adams is my number one favourite author... and I love it when people compare me to him. You're about the fifth person to do that. Thank you.

**obsessionpersonified**: Well, you get your wish—

**Killthefop**: Yes, of course you may have a muffin. You may all have muffins.

**Adison**: I know I'm mean, but Stalker Erik doesn't mind— at least he _says_ he doesn't mind— must figure this out— And I was too eating carrot cake. And it was good.

**Banana71588**: Thanks!

**La Foamy:** "coughing up my lungs in the most painful manner" sounds— painful.

**MindGame**: PH Phantom isn't exactly pimp-ish. He does look likely to start wearing a straw boater and carrying a cane at any moment, however.

**ENTR'ACTE**: No, I was not stoned. Carrot-caked. And very tired and hyper.

**Christine Persephone**: You may have a muffin as well. Have a muffin.

**Mandy the O**: Okay, I'm fulfilling my half of the bargain. Now you owe us three chapters in three days! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!

**A/N: In order to forestall the uproar over this chapter, let me say that A: I know it isn't great but again I was writing at about two in the morning, B: No matter what we Gerry phangirls say, though he sings lovely-ly, MotN belongs to Crawford, C: That high note that Gerry hits, along with the gesture he makes with his hands, never fails to crack me up, much to the annoyance of the rest of the audience, D: I know I'm being mean to Stalker Erik, but I asked him and he said he doesn't mind, in fact he said he finds it funny, which lends credence to my theory that all people called Erik are masochists to some degree, E: I now have twenty-five Writers in this story on top of all the Eriks and Christines and OWs and Raouls, so if you don't get mentioned in each chapter, don't get mad, and don't give up, because you're still there even if you don't talk a lot, F: if you don't know who Mandy's OW Genn is, you have not read "An Eternity Of This," though I find it hard to believe that anyone hasn't. You must read that, and G: obsessionpersonified asked to die. I mean it. Literally. Would I make something like that up?**

Chapter Seven

It may have seemed like all should be peace and harmony there in the lair, what with most of the people being copies of the rest of the people, but in fact, adversity was on them almost immediately.

The friction rose first in the form of Gerry Phantom, who, having concluded negotiations with his love-struck phangirls, had returned to the main group humming to himself.

Kay Erik and Crawford Phantom did their best to ignore him. Leroux Erik was off at the barricade the Raouls had set up, screaming threats. Most of the Writers seated themselves in a circle around Gerry Phantom's feet, staring up at the handsome man with dazed looks on their faces. A few Christines whimpered in their sleep. Stalker Erik sat with his back to the rest of the group and began randomly humming all the Beatles tunes he could think of.

The night was hushed.

At least it would have been, had it been night.

It was kind of hard to tell, down there in the lair, but nevertheless Gerry Phantom took a deep breath and began to sing.

He sang of beauty, he sang of madness, he sang of loss of love, he sang of flower petals crushed beneath careless feet, he sang of hearts beating in time, he sang of—

"Stop!" shouted Crawford Phantom. "I can't take it any more!"

Gerry Phantom stared at him for a moment.

"No," he said, and sang on.

He sang of daffodils and the color red and the sweet feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and its your birthday— not because you want presents, but because exactly so many years ago you came into the world—

Crawford Phantom snatched the punjab from Kay Erik's lithe fingers and threw it around Gerry Phantom's neck, ruthlessly tightening it till it rested square on his Adam's apple. Gerry Phantom held out for as long as he could, finally couldn't manage to squeeze air through the constriction at his neck, and then landed Crawford Phantom a solid punch to the gut.

There were screams of fear from the Writers—

"Don't hit Crawford Phantom, he's old!"

"Don't hit Gerry Phantom's face!"

— and, disconcertingly, chants of "_Fight! Fight! Fight_!" from most of the Christines.

I'd like to tell you that the result of the fight wasn't what you thought it might be— heaven knows I don't want to get predictable— but physical dynamics don't lie and Gerry Phantom's arms were twice the strength of Crawford Phantom's, so in short order the older man was pinned to the ground. However, all was not lost, for though Crawford Phantom talked like a gentleman, he didn't fight like one— at least not when he was getting the bad end of things. He brought his knee up and connected with what I am told, though I wouldn't know from personal experience, is a very bad place to be kicked in.

Every single one of the Eriks in the room winced.

Random began to wonder to herself why she felt it necessary to include a move like that in every fight she has ever written, went back and deleted it, because to her, in her innocent assumption that she would one day be united with her true love, it was very important that Gerry Phantom not be hurt in that manner. She then went on to wonder why she was referring to herself in third person, and if she should have her head examined, and if she should tell people not to answer that with any snide remarks, and if anyone was going to complain that she was wasting time, and eventually got back to writing the phic.

So Gerry Phantom had Crawford Phantom pinned to the ground, and Kay Erik said—

"Children, cannot we talk this out?" in his silky voice.

Gerry Phantom and Crawford Phantom breathed hard in each other's faces for a minute.

"Of course," said Crawford Phantom.

"Easy for you to say," snarled Gerry Phantom. "You're the one in trouble."

"Perhaps you didn't see the action a few paragraphs ago? I know the writer erased it from reality, but I would so wish to avoid a repeat."

Gerry Phantom considered, then let Crawford Phantom up. They both clambered to their feet, breathing stertorously and glaring at each other.

"Clearly there is only one thing to do," said Kay Erik. "Well, two things, but I doubt I could kill you both at the same time without you noticing. Especially not after I just said it. Especially not after I just drew attention to me saying it by saying especially not after I said it. Especially not after— curses, let me start again." He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and composed himself. "Clearly there is only one thing to do. Seeing as how your animosity stems from your singing capabilities, I suggest you two have a contest."

The two musical phantoms turned a slow stare on him, but his quick mind was already working out ways he could make a profit from this situation. Perhaps by making some sort of bet—

He glanced around him. Several of the phangirls, most notably ChristineX and VegaOfTheLyre who looked slightly dazed, gave him hopeful smiles. All in all, they did not look likely to be in possession of much money.

He sighed and abandoned that train of thought for the moment.

"Sing one of those disastrous songs from your musical," he said. "I had not heard them as yet, and would like to, though I am quite sure I will go berserk when I do."

The phantoms turned their gazes back to each other.

"Music of the Night," dictated Crawford Phantom.

Gerry Phantom blanched visibly.

"Can't we— er— couldn't we do something else? I mean, Point of No Return or something— er— he was singing something!" He pointed desperately at Stalker Erik, who turned around.

"Who, me?"

"Yes, man, what were you singing?"

Stalker Erik thought about it a moment, then said, "She's Got A Ticket To Ride."

"Yes, that, that," said Gerry Phantom, swinging back to Crawford Phantom. "That sounded— nice. Can't we sing that?"

"Music of the Night," repeated Crawford Phantom. Sweat began to stand out on Gerry Phantom's forehead. "Unless you think you aren't up to it."

"Up to it? Of course I'm up to it, why wouldn't I be? I've got a good voice. I mean, a wonderful voice— an_ angelic_ voice. They chose me out of thousands." He sounded a bit shaky.

"Fine, then," said Crawford Phantom, and faced Kay Erik. A sudden thought struck him and he swung round again to turn a glare on Gerry Phantom. "And none of your alternate lyrics."

"Fine," gulped Gerry Phantom.

They turned away from each other and closed their eyes, taking deep breaths.

"Aaaaaaand— go," said Kay Phantom, who was enjoying his new role as boss far too much.

They went. They stopped almost immediately, for the discord was perfectly evident to all assembled. Crawford Phantom swung round to glare at the back of Gerry Phantom's head.

"_What _was_ that_?"

"Um," said Gerry Phantom quietly, "false note. Sorry. Try it again?"

"Well, we'll bloody have to, won't we?" said Crawford Phantom, upset.

"Aaaaand— go," said Kay Erik again, without waiting for Crawford Phantom to get himself ready again.

They went. Again. There was still a slight discrepancy in key, but after initial wavering Gerry Phantom forced his voice to ascend to the higher plane wherein Crawford Phantom's melody resided. They sang of the music of the night— they sang of nighttime sharpening things— they sang of heightened sensations— they sang of imaginations waking up— they sang of defenses being abandoned— there was a bit of a pause where the musical interlude would have been.

Gerry Phantom took it upon himself to speak.

"I always go '_la-la-laaa-la-la-la-la-la-laaa—_' during this bit."

"Shut up," snarled Crawford Phantom.

They sang of night unfurling its splendor, of something or other which was tremulous and tender. They sang and the Writers who stared at them began quietly to cry.

"Crawford— Gerry— together—" whispered flamingices emotionally. "Too much— _too much_!" She burst into full-fledged tears and buried her head on eyesofatragedy's shoulder.

There was a curious sniffling sound coming from Stalker Erik's direction, but when they swung round to look at him he was staring at the ceiling and tapping his fingers together. "Who me?" he said, putting his hand behind his back.

They glared at him for being so unemotional and returned to staring at the crooning Phantoms. He sighed with relief that they hadn't suspected his secret, and returned to sniffling, no longer so remote and dry-eyed.

They sang of light being generally garish, cold, and unfeeling, all at the same time— they sang of closing your eyes— they sang of darkest dreams, as opposed to ones that weren't quite so dark— they sang of purging— they sang of closing your eyes again, in case you hadn't caught that the first time—

And now they reached the true testing grounds, for the note on the word "soar" in this particular song is one of the highest man has ever been able to reach, at least not without being kicked in a certain area which has been mentioned, in passing, before. Crawford Phantom circled it and then glided up effortlessly— Gerry Phantom, on the other hand—

They all heard the falter of his voice. He tried to hide it by doing a very uplifting gesture with both hands, but there was no hiding a mistake of these proportions. Several of the Writers dissolved into giggles. Gerry Phantom stopped singing immediately, opened his eyes, stomped his foot, made his hair fall attractively over his face, and started cursing.

Which led Crawford Phantom, beaming with his triumph, to sing, gently, "Angel or father, friend or phantom— who is it there, swearing?"

Which, needless to say, didn't help.

Gerry Phantom stomped off, and a few of the more devout Phangirls followed him. They had their Christines and OWs on leashes, tugging them along after.

"It wasn't that bad, hon!"

"No, no, you did a great job!"

Gerry Phantom flung himself down by the waters edge and ran a hand through his ragged hair. The gesture made the phangirls nearly swoon but they conquered the tendency in time and rushed to comfort him.

"Listen," advised Melissa Brandybuck, "I'm telling you, most guys have to inhale helium before they can reach that note. Don't feel bad about it."

The growl that he gave them was meant to convey that he did feel bad about it and nothing they could say would make him feel better.

"Aw," said Mandy the O, genuinely distressed. "Here, here's Genn to take care of you. I take back the restrictions I set." She pushed Genn into Gerry Phantom's lap. Without thinking, his and her arms went to quite normal places, and Gerry Phantom's disappointment in the singing contest was quickly forgotten, or, at least, put out of his mind for a while.

The phangirls stood and watched.

"Wow," said Willow Rose.

"Yeah huh," said Mandy.

"You think?" said EmailyGirl, listlessly.

They watched some more.

Gerry Phantom did something quite novel.

"Do you think we should be taking notes?" asked Willow Rose, tilting her head to one side.

There was a moment of silence— well, almost silence, silence except for some heavy breathing and a few indeterminate cries— and then a rush to get out pencils and notebooks.

Meanwhile Crawford Phantom was looking quite smug and pleased with himself. Brightman Christine sang him a long-winded congratulations that resulted in her knocking herself out once more from lack of oxygen, leaving Crawford Phantom to the romantic machinations of his phans. Sarah Crawford sidled towards him and gave him an inviting smile, which he returned innocently, still beaming with pride.

"Will you sing for me?" she inquired.

"Sing?" said Crawford Phantom. At that moment he would have stripped if someone had asked him, he was so happy, and it was either very lucky, or very unfortunate that no one did. He smiled benignly at her. "Of course, my dear."

And then he sang "Point of No Return."

Most of the girls watched him, shaking their heads slightly.

"Lets ask Gerry Phantom—" suggested ElfLover. There was a chorus of agreement, and they traipsed over to where Gerry Phantom sat snogging Genn with every evidence of enjoyment.

It took several attempts but at last they managed to distract him from his task and gain his attention.

"Will you—" said Adison.

"Sing—" said IChooseTheScorpion.

"Point of No Return?" finished Hoshi.

Gerry Phantom smiled at them.

"Of course," he said, stood up and then, like a gentleman, helped Genn to her feet as well. She stood staring at him with a flushed and expectant smile as he took a deep breath, now having completely gotten over his defeat.

He sang.

He sang this song very well and quite quickly the eyes of one of the watching girls, obsessionpersonified, slid up into her head and she collapsed onto the ground.

There was a bit of an uproar.

"Is she alright?"

"What happened?"

"—_in your mind you've already succumbed to me— dropped your knickers— completely succumbed to me_—" caroled Gerry Phantom, who had made up his own words to this as well and wasn't one to stop putting on a show just because a spectator collapsed.

"She's dead," said Misty Breyer— having felt for obsessionpersonified's pulse and failed to find it, this was indeed a reasonable conclusion to arrive at.

Slowly the shocked eyes of the Writers turned up to Gerry Phantom, who was still singing.

"She died of happiness at hearing his voice," breathed pOtOgurl417, her mouth wide open.

"Yeah—" said the Writers.

Mandy the O drew a shaky breath.

"Now _that_," she said, "is _power_."

And so Gerry Phantom and all his phans felt vindicated, and Crawford Phantom and his phans felt triumphant, and the smell of muffins was wafting from the kitchens, where most of the Christines had gone to assist, and Stalker Erik was teaching Kay Erik to sing "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band."

This would be a nice way to end the chapter, wouldn't it?

Oh, one more thing.

There was a clatter on the stairways across the narrow strip of water, and everyone looked up to see the film Raoul, also known as Patrick Raoul, barreling down them on a white horse, bareback, looking red-faced and uncomfortable.

"Christine!" he called, leaping off the horse and stumbling as soon as he hit the ground. "Don't do it! Whatever you believe, this man, this thing, is not your fa—"

As he rushed towards them he tripped over a loose stone and went headlong into the lake. There was a chorus of appreciative oohs at the perfection of his beautiful swan dive.

"The fop," said Gerry Phantom with a curl of his lip. "Late, as usual."

**A/A/N: A list of the people I caught to be in here: Sarah Crawford, Willow Rose, Mandy the O, EmailyGirl, Melissa Brandybuck, The Maiden Amorisa, EriksAngel1870, bundles 'o joy, ElfLover, Musique et Amour, flamingices, VegaOfTheLyre, ChristineX, obsessionpersonified, pOtOgurl417, eyesofatragedy, IChooseTheScorpion, LibrarianOfTheDeep, Killthefop, sparklyscorpion, YoukoElfMaiden, Hoshi, Misty Breyer, phantomzgerl, and Adison. Once again, if I missed you, I'm sorry. I'm getting people off FF net and also PFN so it gets a bit confusing. Just let me know.**


	8. Episode VIII The Seduction of Raoul

**AAAAH! The amount of reviews is truly frightening! (laughs) I love it! Thank you loyal readers, and new ones! You make me laugh far harder than I do you, trust me. Though I'm still waiting for someone to say that this phic is at _least_ as good as Scotch and dog biscuits...**

**Lazy.kender**: Glad you like the rambling, I do that a lot. Share the insanity with people! That's great!

**pOtOgurl417:** You're welcome!

**The Singing Fox Demon**: Ah, a new reviewer, thanks for all the reviews!

**Lamia:** Thanks for reviewing.

**Neonn**: Better? Really? Oh good. Honestly after the first chapter I was ready to be done with it, even I didn't think it was funny.

**EriksAngel1870**: You'll show back up... there's so many people in this I have to rotate.

**LuvinLivnReadn**: Hey! Blueberry? I thought all the blueberry muffins were gone!

**Mademoiselle Phantom**: I'll think about it. (Wink)

**Phantress**: Finally you review! About time! Just kidding. Of course you may be in... somewhere...

**ChristineX**: Nobody has a lot of money. At least no one I know. It was a safe bet.

**Baffled Seraph**: Sparklyscorpion is the official Fop Protector. Talk to her.

**Misty Breyer**: Hmm... wet T-shirt contest... (evil smile) You know, I may use that idea...

**Miss.Understood3**: Thank you!

**YoukoElfMaiden**: Give me a while... no, wait, I'm sure you showed up earlier... I'm positive!

**Bundles 'o joy**: Hmm, chandeliers... interesting... maybe...

**ElfLover**: Most people like Gerry's PONR better, just as they like Crawford's MOTN. (Shrug) Again, safe bet. I guess as long as I keep dealing in stereotypes, I'll be fine. :)

**Librarian of the Deep**: aka Oboe Freak, fellow PFNer. You're right, that is easier to type.

**Elle67**: Thanks for the review.

**joanieponytail**: Life _is_ good, isn't it?

**VegaOfTheLyre**: You're in here... I think... (goes to check)

**Lady Lomode**: Hope to see you on PFN. Thanks for reviewing!

**gavvie**: yes. listen to Michael Crawford. It is important.

**Elsha**: I like being mean to people. 'Tis fun.

**Slina**: Another new reviewer (unless you were signing in differently) yay! Of course, I'll add you to the list.

**longblacksatinlace**: Hope to see you on PFN too... and yeah I'll put you in...

**THELadyRedDeath**: yeah, I can put you in... along with a hundred other people... :)

**phantomzgerl**: I don't know if I can handle any more versions of the Phantom. I'm going insane with love as it is.

**Sarah Crawford**: And you got to interact with Crawford Phantom! Credit and gratitude, please?

**MindGame:** I love long reviews! I love _your _long reviews! Thank you! I knew there were different versions of MotN but I only know the words to the one I put in... which is why I put it in...

**KeeperOfBoxFive:** "My god, you're silly," is now officially one of my favourite reviews. Thank you.

**Willow Rose**: Behold the fate of the fop...

**Renee17**: You are now a minion. congratulations.

**Songwind**: Leroux Erik will sing later, I promise. Man, I wonder how long I'll be able to keep this thing going before I burn out?

**sparklyscorpion**: Your interaction with Patrick Raoul starts... now.

**phanphicnewbie**: Welcome to the phandom! Thanks for reviewing.

**Dimac99**: Chapter came first... I make up the chapter titles as I'm putting the update on ff. And my knowledge of roman numerals and of sequel titles to parody is running out... :) I accept suggestions of course...

**ENTR'ACTE**: Manic laughter rules, doesn't it?

**Melissa Brandybuck:** Hmm... Raoul vs. Erik in a singing contest... I think Erik would punjab him before that happened...

**ButterflyOfLothlorien**: Muffins are cool. have a muffin. Aim for Emmy Christine's mouth, it shouldn't be hard—

**Tango1:** I'll make Kay Erik sing the Beatles later. It should happen.

**Mithril**: Thank you! Another new reader, whew!

**Adison**: Dear PR Agent, your reviews crack me up. Thank you. _"What are you doing with your hands? Put them away, for God's sake."_

**Killthefop**: what is it with you and stale breadsticks?

**La Foamy**: Thanks for the lung-coughing lecture... (claps a hand to her forehead) Of course Gerry Phantom is amazing. He's also a bit laughable, though...

**Banana71588**: (sternly) No violence in the phic. Oh, yeah. except for the fop-killing...

**EmailyGirl**: You're welcome. (grins) I am guilty of writing a few prophetic nightmares as well... see "Absolution."

**The Maiden Amorisa:** Dear MPS, the seduction scene has been altered a bit. I do hope you don't mind. :)

**Mandy the O**: No, you don't really love Patrick Raoul, do you? Say it ain't so!

**Musique et Amour**: Sooo, we already discussed the masochist comment... I am going to be adult about it and try to move on... aw, Erik, you know we love you... we just like to hit you and make fun of you... tell ya what, let me know how you want your revenge and I'll put it in.

**A/N: This should make the Raoul-lovers out there quite happy— Raoul has a love interest! Yay! (evil snigger). Written, once again, quite late at night, this time with Stalker Erik's voice in my ears (go musicians who are unafraid to share! Woot!) No carrot cake this time, unfortunately, as it really seemed to help two chapters ago. Perhaps everything is a little far-fetched in this one— but then, we are talking about a story in which all versions of the Phantom are stuck in a lair together. (shrug)**

* * *

Chapter Eight

"Fa?" said Kay Erik quizzically.

Nobody looked at him. They were busy looking at the string of bubbles that marked the place where Patrick Raoul had gone down, and were waiting to see how long it took him to figure out that the water was only three feet deep.

"Fa?" said Kay Erik again. His curiousity demanded to be satisfied, but no one was paying him any attention. Finally, fed up with it all, he flung the punjab around the neck of the nearest Writer, hauled her to him, and said, "Fa?" in her face.

"Um," said Hoshi, wrinkling her nose at the smell of his breath, "what do you mean?"

"Fa," repeated Kay Erik. "Fa."

"Sorry, still don't get it—"

"Fa—"

"Are you stuck on your scales?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," snapped Kay Erik, releasing her. "As if I, the Phantom of the Opera, would get stuck on my scales."

"Sing for us!" shouted ElfLover.

Kay Erik took a deep breath, preparatory to launching for a quick and excellent do-re-mi, and then exhaled abruptly and fixed ElfLover with a glare.

"You don't think you can get to me that easily, do you? I said I would not sing, and I will not sing."

"But," said darksidetwin2 in the ensuing silence, "you never _said _you wouldn't sing—"

"Didn't I? Oh." Kay Erik frowned. "I meant to. Perhaps I forgot."

"I say!" said Crawford Phantom, struck by a sudden thought. "Do you suppose that's what happened to Box Five?"

"What do you mean?" asked Gerry Phantom, his attention distracted.

"I mean to say, I said, to the managers that is, _Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty? _And they said— _No_."

"Hmm," said Gerry Phantom, nodding, with one finger pressed to his lips in thought.

"Do you suppose that's what happened? That I forgot to mention it? I was in rather a hurry at the time, and I suppose anything's possible—"

"Hmm," said Gerry Phantom again. "No, I don't think so. I mean, we _are _the Phantom of the Opera after all— who would believe that the Phantom of the Opera would forget to inform people of his instructions?"

"Ah yes, good point—"

Most of the Writers were giggling now at the possibility, and Kay Erik got rather incensed.

"Cease this ridiculous tangential conversation at once and attend to me!" he shouted, stomping his foot. They turned to look at him. "Fa!" he said.

This only made the Writers laugh harder. Nobody noticed Patrick Raoul finally pull himself up out of the lake and drag himself a few feet, gasping in oxygen and, what with his mouth being so close to the ground, a lot of dust, too. He spat it back out, gagging, and looking quite a bit like he did in the last scene of the movie when he was tied with a punjab, which always makes the more cruelly-inclined of us giggle. Nobody even noticed Stalker Erik deliver a surreptitious kick to his ribs, which would also make the more cruelly-inclined of us giggle.

"Fa! Fa!" said Kay Erik vehemently. "Stop laughing at me! I want to know what that man meant by it!" He pointed a long finger at Patrick Raoul.

Everyone swung to look at him, then swung their gazes back to Kay Erik.

"What?" said Gerry Phantom, squinting at him.

"That man said 'fa' as he was diving into the lake," said Kay Erik imperiously. "I merely wished to know what he meant by it."

There was a pause, and then a long, drawn-out, "_Ohhhh_—" from everyone present.

"Fa," said Gerry Phantom, quietly, to himself.

"Fa—" mused Crawford Phantom, tapping at his chin.

"Fa."

"Fa?"

"Fa," assured Kay Erik. "What did he mean by it?"

By now the Writers had pretty much gotten hold of themselves and EriksAngel1870 ventured forward to say, "I think I know—"

The Eriks swung their thoughtful gazes on her.

"He was starting to say 'father.'"

"Father?" repeated Gerry Erik, rubbing his chin slowly. The stage makeup that was covering the cleft in his chin began to come off and he ceased hurriedly.

"Father, yes. Raoul was saying the lines from the graveyard scene—" EriksAngel1870 looked back for support from the rest of the Writers, and they nodded encouragement.

"The graveyard scene?" murmured Kay Erik.

"Well, it went like this—" broke in Adison, standing forward and clearing her throat. She composed herself for a moment and then broke into a very creditable impersonation of Patrick Raoul. "Christine!" she screamed. "Whatever you believe, this man— this THING! is NOT YOUR FATHER! Christine—" The impersonation then degenerated into some feminine yelping, flippings of an imaginary ponytail, and repeated yells of, "I'm a girl! I'm a girl!" as she went a bit overboard. However, the point had been made.

Kay Erik turned slowly on the two musical Phantoms.

"You led her to believe that you were her father?" he said. His tone boded ill for them should they say yes.

"Um— no?" said Crawford Phantom, wisely.

"Well— yes," said Gerry Phantom, truthfully. "Yes, yes we did. I mean, at least in my version she should have been able to figure it out— the amount of touching that went on should have tipped her off that something was— a bit— odd about this father-daughter relationship, but then Christine has never really been known for her intelligence. Have you, Christine?" he asked, turning to Emmy Christine, who gazed wide-eyed at him, somehow not having noticed the fact that her other love-interest, Patrick Raoul, was sprawled on the ground a few feet away.

"Intelligence?" she said, frantically.

"Yes, that's alright," said Gerry Phantom, wrapping an arm around her whilst simultaneously winking at Genn, who glared at him.

"Intelligence," said Emmy Christine, as though making a mental note. Her eyes wandered wildly over the room before suddenly lighting like a pair of startled butterflies on the prone form of Patrick Raoul. "Oh nooo!" she cried, and fainted dead away. Gerry Phantom was forced to catch her in both arms.

"Actually," said Willow Rose thoughtfully, wrinkling her forehead, "Emmy Christine would appear to be quite intelligent, in very specialized ways."

Looking at her sprawled in Gerry Phantom's tender hold, the other Writers couldn't help but agree.

The sodden bulk that was Patrick Raoul now began to move itself, though heretofore it had remained inert, creating the hope that he was, in fact, dead. Most of the Christines still remained in the kitchen with the muffin-baking PH Phantom, Emmy Christine had fainted dead away, Brightman Christine too was asleep in a heap on the floor, which left it up to sparklyscorpion, as official Raoul Protector, to go to him and try to help him to his feet.

He nearly fainted when he made it, and saw before his eyes all the different Phantoms, staring at him malevolently.

Gerry Phantom came quite close, a small smile on his lips.

"Good evening, monsieur," he said.

A small whimper escaped Patrick Raoul's lips, and he closed his eyes. Even sparklyscorpion found this apparent total lack of courage rather discouraging to her Raoul-attachment— but The Maiden Amorisa, who two chapters ago had been flinging herself at Stalker Erik and had subsequently been gone psycho on when he just couldn't stand it any more, decided that it was kind of cute.

"Ooh," she said, "love."

"What?" said ChristineX, turning a disbelieving look on her.

"Love," said The Maiden Amorisa happily. "I am in love with Patrick Raoul, yes I am."

"You have got to be kidding me," muttered EmailyGirl, in utter disbelief that anyone would take Raoul over the Phantom. Especially these particular versions.

"I wonder if he's easily seduce-able," said The Maiden Amorisa musingly. She decided to find out, and began her advance.

"Christine!" said Patrick Raoul, suddenly seeing Christine where she lay on the ground, having been placed in an uncomfortable-looking position by Gerry Phantom when he lay her down. He tried to run to her but Gerry Phantom stood in his way, and when Gerry Phantom stands in the way, the way is undeniably stood in, in no uncertain terms.

"Have you hurt her?" Patrick Raoul said in what he thought was a harsh voice. The Eriks thought, universally, that they had heard harsher voices from small kittens.

Gerry Phantom glared at him.

"Of course I haven't hurt her!" he said, outraged.

"Oh?" said Patrick Raoul. "Oh— that's okay then." He then attended to the next order of business, which was his hair. He glanced at sparklyscorpion. "Got a mirror, by chance?"

"Me?" said sparklyscorpion, understandably startled. She glanced around at all the Eriks. "No."

"I do!" came a voice from the crowd. "Oh, I do, I do!" The Maiden Amorisa fought her way the front and held a mirror out to Patrick Raoul. There was a startled roar as the mirror caught the light, a roar not unlike that of an enraged lion who has repeatedly tried to set the recording time on its VCR and can't get the hang of it, causing it to miss yet another re-run of "Who's The Boss?" The roar came, however, not from a technologically-frustrated lion, but from the crowd of Eriks, who began to surge past their keepers and race for the mirror, undoubtedly to smash it to oblivion. Mirrors are not good things to show to physically-disfigured, mirror-scarred phantoms, especially when most of them are already berserk with rage as it is.

The Maiden Amorisa got a bit tangled in the crowd. No doubt she loved every moment of it, but when the carnage was over, the mirror lay in tiny slivers on the ground, and from the wreckage a lone hand lifted and a small voice called out, "Medic!"

Eventually the Eriks got separated once again into the movie versions, stage versions, book-and-phic versions, and the three remaining Main Eriks, Leroux Erik still screaming threats and obscenities at the barricade to the Raouls, most of whom were crying now. Various impositions were tossed back and forth between the groups of Phic Writers—

"Can't you keep your Eriks penned up?"

"Our Eriks are more insane than your Eriks!"

"Are you kidding? You have the easy job!"

"Well, our Eriks are cuter, anyway!"

"What? That is so not true!"

"Whatever— losers—"

This last was called to the Writers who guarded the Main Eriks. Mandy caught it and gritted her teeth, turning to the Eriks.

"Phantom— Erik— one of you—"

Stalker Erik stood forward expectantly but she gave him a glare.

"_Not _you— one of you, punjab them, would you?"

"Yes, _please_," murmured Kay Erik eagerly.

"No!" said YoukoElfMaiden. "No carnage among our own kind. We decided that before we came."

"Oh yeah? What do you call that?" Mandy pointed at the small heap of clothes and flesh on the ground that was The Maiden Amorisa.

"I could use a hand up," called The Maiden Amorisa forlornly. "And some hot chocolate— and a bath— and a rubber ducky— and—"

"Vengeance?" broke in Mandy. "Want some vengeance?"

"Actually, I was thinking aspirin—"

"Oh, come on," said Librarian of the Deep to a few of the Writers, and they stood forward and lifted The Maiden Amorisa up, preparing to cart her towards the bedroom. She reached out and grabbed Patrick Raoul's sleeve.

"Come with me," she said.

Patrick Raoul looked down at her in some consternation.

"What?" he said.

"Come with me." She gave him the big-pleading-eyes look. "Puh-leeeeeze?"

"Go with her," said Mandy shortly. "Its your fault she's in this condition, anyway."

"Condition?" said The Maiden Amorisa, struggling to lift her head. "What condition?"

"Poor kid," muttered Celtic Heart to Adison. "Getting her head stomped on by all the Eriks completely messed up her mind."

"Oh, is _that _what did it?" muttered Adison back.

"If you hadn't asked for that bloody mirror—" Mandy went on to Patrick Raoul, who still looked somewhat bewildered.

"But— what am I supposed to do?'

"Just sit with her. She needs a companion."

"But—"

"Come on," called The Maiden Amorisa as she was carried towards the bedroom. "You can help give me my sponge-bath." She giggled.

Patrick Raoul looked very uncertain, but the clinch was put on it by Killthefop saying suddenly, "You know, if you stay here, sooner or later all us Writers are just going to— let the Eriks do whatever they want— there's only so long you can control a phantom, you know—"

Patrick Raoul blanched, casting a look at Kay Erik, who was glaring at him balefully, Crawford Phantom, who fixed a benign and disturbing smile on a point in midair somewhere above his left shoulder, Gerry Phantom who gave him a snarl, and Stalker Erik who made a horrific face at him and then collapsed into laughter at his own cleverness. This was the final straw.

"Alright," said Patrick Raoul, bracing himself bravely.

Sparklyscorpion began to shoo him away towards the bedroom, glad to her charge safely locked away, out of the reach of the blood-thirsty Eriks— and, if it came to that, the blood-thirsty Writers. However, she realized as she closed the door on him, there was now nothing to keep him out of the reach of The Maiden Amorisa.

"Ah well," she muttered to herself as she turned from the door. "What's the worst that could happen— assault with a friendly weapon?"

That was the last they heard from Patrick Raoul for a while, apart from some dying screams.

Pink Haze Phantom poked his head out of the kitchen.

"Muffins are ready," he said pleasantly.


	9. Episode IX Fopcorn

**Dear Readers: I have had a request for some explanations, so instead of replying to the reviews I am going to inflict a lengthy author's note on you. If you are a PFNer however, you don't need to read it, unless you want to, in which case you are a masochist and are probably named Erik. Anyway. **

**To start with, PFN is phantomfans (dot) net, where people go to make fun of the movie and swoon over the Eriks and things like that. It's a nice place, you should check it out. So far I think I've pointed seven people there, and we always like new members to talk to and/or make fun of. **

**Next point: the Writers. It started off quite simply, when I (I think) asked if people wanted a mention, since I was going to put some Phic-Writers in. I think I started with maybe ten... I now have almost forty, and despite enjoying it thoroughly am slowly being driven insane. But! I am perfectly happy to put anyone in, because as one reviewer pointed out, sanity is overrated. You may notice a few of the Writers have more well-developed personalities— these are the ones I have talked to more, and got more of a feel for their character— and believe me, they _are _characters. A lot of the stuff that goes on between them is an extension of conversations on the soap opera that is PFN, so once again if you check that out it will help you get the in-jokes more. Also I have to admit to stealing a few lines from people off there— (sheepish shrug). So if you want in the phic, all you have to do is ask. **

**And finally, someone asked about the significance of the muffins— truthfully, the muffins are used as a metaphor for life, with the lemon poppyseed-ness of them a counterpoint to the ickiness that Leroux Erik was musing on in the first chapter. Also the fact that they are lemon poppyseed points to my general dissatisfaction with and disappointment in life, because really I much prefer blueberry.**

**No. The muffins are manifestations of the spirits of stage-Phantoms that have passed beyond**

**No. The muffins are a metaphor for sex.**

**No! The muffins are made by my mother, and she burnt them when I was a child, leaving me forever scarred and muffin-phobic, or muffin-aholic, whichever is funnier— **

**No. The muffins are breakfast. And, occasionally, lunch.**

**Please don't worry about the muffins— my insanity only affects myself.**

**Cheers, dear readers— **

**A/A/N: The title of this chapter came from someone on PFN. I would love to give them credit but I don't remember who it was. I hope you guys don't mind the ending of this one. Heck, I hope you like it, I hope you cheer for it and squee for it and glomp it and marry it. Not likely, but— I'll go ahead and tell you that its only temporary, but complain if you like.

* * *

**

**Chapter Nine**

Pink Haze Phantom bustled purposefully around the lair, handing out muffins. The issue of the lair should be dealt with— it has been brought to my attention that it was not actually large enough to hold all the people that are supposedly in it at the moment.

To these objections I have the following things to say:

1: How do you know?

2: Have you ever tried it?

3: Who's writing this story here, me or you?

and finally 4: Its _fiction_, you imbeciles.

Now that this pressing issue has been taken care of, we will return to the action— namely, muffin-eating. It was the perfect time for the Writers to take notice of the various Phantom's table manners, for possible inclusion in their phics— unfortunately most of them were concentrating on their own table manners, or lack of them, and couldn't be bothered.

There arose a bit of a ruckus when Slina knocked her tea into Phantress's lap, and Phantress retaliated by stuffing her muffin down Slina's shirt, and then Mademoiselle Phantom and THELadyRedDeath got into the action as well, hair-pulling was employed, screaming happened, and Hoshi and Adison didn't make things better by finding all this incredibly funny and laughing their heads off. But it was all in good fun and after a few eyes were blackened everyone returned to their muffins and tea.

EmmyChristine, having recovered from her faint and promptly forgotten that Patrick Raoul had been there, as he was still ensconced in the bedroom with the slowly-recovering Maiden Amorisa, and of course I don't use the word "ensconced" in a deviant manner at all, offered Stalker Erik a muffin. He shook his head and pushed the plate away.

"No thank you."

"Eat it," said Emmy Christine, pushing it back at him.

"No, I don't want to."

"Eat it!"

"I don't eat."

"The fact that you are alive," said Kay Erik from behind him, "would seem to suggest otherwise."

Slowly, Stalker Erik turned round to behold the three Main Phantoms standing there, staring at him regally, Gerry Phantom still masticating a mouthful of muffin.

There was a bit of a silence while the Main Eriks took Stalker Erik in, and then the sound of chewing became evident to everyone. Kay Erik swung a distasteful look at Gerry Phantom.

"Must you do that?"

"What do you suggest I do?" mumbled Gerry Phantom, taking another humongous mouthful. "Swallow without chewing? I'd choke to death."

"The point of your objection, monsieur?" said Kay Erik. Gerry Phantom glared at him, and Kay Erik turned back to Stalker Erik with a sigh.

"They say you are the one called Stalker Erik."

"Um," said Stalker Erik, his mouth suddenly dry, "yes?"

Kay Erik folded his arms behind his back. "Are you asking me?"

"Well, they do call me that, yes."

"Aha." Kay Erik gave the stalker a slow once-over with a frown. "Who gave you permission to be called Erik?"

"Er— my mother."

Kay Erik withdrew his hands from behind his back and spread them, calling out to the room at large. "You, Writers! Are there any others who think their name is Erik out there? What_ are_ your names?"

There was a pause, and then small and forlorn female voices filled it from all over the room.

"THELadyRedDeath."

"Padfootz-luvr."

"Longblacksatinlace."

"IChooseTheScorpion."

"xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx."

"pOtOgurl417."

"VegaOfTheLyre."

"Killthefop," said Killthefop, causing Gerry Phantom to turn a brief and approving glance on her. She blushed pleasurably and wriggled her shoulders under his gaze.

There were many other names called out, but the only point to writing them all out would be to gratify the vanity of the owners of them, and so we will skip to the point, some ten minutes later, when Kay Erik said, in disgusted disbelief, "You expect me to believe that these are your names? These are the names you were— _christened_? I cannot credit it, mademoiselles."

The Writers shrugged.

"They're the names we write under," said EmailyGirl. "That's kind of important, to us."

Kay Erik shook his head, hooked his hands behind his back again, gave Stalker Erik another hard glare, and then strode off to find some lemon for his tea. Crawford Phantom stood behind, capturing the attention of the Writers again.

"Don't be put off by Kay Erik's rough exterior," he said kindly. "We may all be cold-hearted, maniacal-laughing murderers, but we really do have hearts of gold." With a benign smile, he walked off in the general direction of Sarah Crawford, who had her pen and paper out and was writing as fast as she could.

"Crap," muttered Celtic Heart furiously, "they're getting phictionalized again! What do we do?"

Hoshi thought about this. "Try and stay on their good side?" she suggested.

"Supposing they don't have a good side?"

There was more thought.

"If they're getting phictionalized," said Mandy the O slowly, "does that mean that if we write them how we _want _them to be—"

About ten light bulbs went on at the same time, over various Writer's heads.

Simultaneously, they all went, "Oooooh!"

"It was my idea first!" cried Sarah Crawford, eluding, for the moment, Crawford Phantom's reaching hands and running to her fellow Writers. "You can't all just steal it!"

"Why not?"asked Sydney the Poet innocently. "You can have Crawford Phantom, no one else wants him."

"Fine, then," said Sarah Crawford, mollified, and walked back to Crawford Phantom, who was waiting for her.

The Writers plied their trade busily, occasionally squabbling over which Erik belonged to whom, finally agreeing to separate into groups and work it out according to the various versions. ChristineX started running around frantically calling, "I don't have any paper! _I don't have any paper_!" Stalker Erik watched them with his hands in his pockets.

"What's the matter?" called Johanna Gen to him.

He shrugged. "Eh— what would I do with a Phantom? I'll leave them to you ladies."

"Get yourself a Christine, why don't you," advised Celtic Heart over her shoulder.

Stalker Erik laughed outright. He had no use for Christines, and went on to say so, loudly, repeatedly, and averting his eyes from Emmy Christine, who, still in Mother mode, was standing patiently before him, breathing hard and holding a muffin, waiting for him to open his mouth wide enough for her to shove it in. He stopped talking, finally, and turned a peeved glare on her.

"Muffin?" she said.

"No, _thank _you, I said."

"Muffin?"

"Can't you leave me be?"

"Muffin."

"Gerry Phantom is making out with Genn again," said Stalker Erik cunningly and, as it turned out, truthfully. Emmy Christine dropped the muffin and opened her mouth wide in shock. Stalker Erik bent, picked up the muffin, inserted it carefully between her lips, then smiled in deep, inner satisfaction and dusted his hands off.

"Run along now," he said, patting her kindly on the shoulder.

She did, silently, unable to speak because she couldn't figure out how to un-wedge the muffin from her mouth and it was too much to chew at once. Stalker Erik rubbed his hands together.

"Well— my work here is finished," he announced. "I have made Emmy Christine forever silent." Nobody was paying him any attention. "Hey! Ladies!" They ignored him still, and Stalker Erik lapsed into a sulk.

Presently a thought struck him and an evil glint came to his eyes. He delved into his pocket and retrieved a small notebook along with two tissues, a glue stick, a pencil stub, a nickle, and a fluff-covered mint. With the notebook in his right hand and the pencil in his left, he began to write— his handwriting was neater that most left-handers but he had to concentrate in order to make it that way.

As he wrote he chuckled fiendishly to himself.

"And—then— a fop— exploded—"

Nothing happened.

Stalker Erik frowned to himself and shook the notebook as though it were a recalcitrant TV remote.

Nothing continued to happen.

Then he decided to add punctuation to the end of the sentence.

The second the period was in place, there was, a ways off in the distance, a tremendous boom, cries of alarm, a wet sort of thud, and then wails of grief. Everyone looked up, confused, from their tasks of writing, eating, drinking, etc— they didn't notice Stalker Erik grinning widely and rocking himself back and forth on his heels, and they didn't know what had gone on until Leroux Erik, closely followed by Real Christine, rushed into the main room of the lair, his eyes wide.

"The fop—" he announced. Everyone held their breath. "—has blown up!"

There was a tremendous cheer from the Eriks and a slightly ragged one from the Writers. Stalker Erik threw a triumphant fist in the air and shouted, "Whoo-hoo!"

The Writers swivelled to look at him.

"Did you do that?" said Willow Rose.

"Of course! When granted tremendous power, why would I deny myself the satisfaction of using it?" asked Stalker Erik reasonably.

Most of the Writers agreed with this sentiment, especially as it turned out that it was Leroux Raoul who had exploded, and nobody much liked him, but sparklyscorpion, as the official Raoul Protector, went up to Stalker Erik and punched him on the shoulder.

"You no-good, lousy, low-down, gaunt, bent, thick-headed, poetry-scribbling, ambidextrous, chronically-headachey little man!"

"Hey!" objected Stalker Erik, rubbing his shoulder. "I am not little!"

"Why would you do that?"

"I thought I already explained my reasons! Look, no one with the ability to kill a fop would simply _not_ kill a fop— would they?" he appealed to the rest of the Writers. Most of them nodded in agreement, some of them in rapture at the very idea, and a few of them, who had inexplicably been reviewing and begging me not to kill of Patrick Raoul on the grounds that he had a cute butt (coughMaidenAmorisacough) frowned and scuffed their feet and looked away. "Oh, come _on, _people! Look, am I right, guys?" He opened his appeal to the room at large and got a better reaction from the Eriks, except for the Slash versions, who were in love with Raoul and had to be kept penned up in a corner where they couldn't do harm to anyone but themselves.

When he looked back, grinning, he found that Leroux Erik and Real Christine had advanced on him. Real Christine stood forward.

"Did you _truly_ kill Raoul?" she said, faltering.

"Er— yes—" said Stalker Erik, wondering how wise it was to say anything.

For a moment Real Christine stood still, her face going through an amazing range of emotions— from fear to anger to joy to sadness to anger again to tears to a dim ray of hope to anger again to joy— Stalker Erik thought dazedly to himself that it was like watching the Wheel Of Fortune.

Finally she stopped on joy.

"Oh— thank you!" she cried, and flung her arms up, reaching for him. Stalker Erik did a quick and nimble side-step to avoid her, but she got him anyway, Christines being the most accomplished clutchers in the known universe. He set about trying to free her arms from around his neck but his gaze caught that of Leroux Erik—

Who did not look happy.

"Hoo boy," said ElfLover quietly.

Leroux Erik stood still as a stone, his burning eyes fixed on his love and the struggling man she had clutched in her grasp. His body tensed, his knees and elbows crooked, and with the black cloak swirling sinuously around his skeletal frame, for a moment he looked like a giant spider. Then he strode forward. Stalker Erik struggled harder, but Real Christine was more persistent than Super-Glue and soldering.

Leroux Erik walked painfully slowly until he reached the swaying couple, then lifted the punjab he held clenched in his hand, held it forward, and draped it lightly over Real Christine's neck, yanking it tight and then hauling on it till she passed out from lack of air and collapsed on the ground. Stalker Erik, who was panting from fear as though he'd just run a race, looked up into his namesake's eyes.

Slowly, Leroux Erik gave the tiniest resigned shrug.

There came from the crowd the sound of insane cackling, and as though in slow motion, everyone turned around to face it. The crowd parted to reveal a small form crouched over a notebook, a black pen in her ink-stained fingers, scribbling madly and occasionally flinging her long hair out of a pair of malicious dark eyes.

She wrote on for a minute more and then looked up with a cheerful grin.

"I've always wanted to make him do that. Don't worry, he didn't kill her— just knocked her out a bit. She should have a lovely headache when she wakes up."

"But—" breathed VegaOfTheLyre. "You killed yourself in the first chapter—"

"Its only fiction, after all, not reality, which is good because if it were reality I would be having a real hard time not flinging myself at Gerard Butler over there, lookin' all hot in his cape, or for that matter any of the Eriks because as we know its personality that counts, not looks, though looks help, and anyway I brought myself back to life," said Random Battlecry, simply.

* * *

**Okay, a few review replies down here where they won't bug everyone:**

**Thanks to EmailyGirl and Hoshi for the carrot cake...**

**VegaOfTheLyre: **I had a complicated comedic education. Lots of British humour, which is where I get most of my madness from. Most of it. A bit is entirely original.

**Christine Persephone**: I forgot about the horse! Shall have to address that issue.

**ElfLover**: Leroux Erik'll be in more later... I miss him too... about CLE. It was meant to be a one-shot, and I forgot to say that. I may write more of it when this is over, but no guarantees.

**The Singing Fox Demon**: I am inspired, lately, by the ridiculous conversations I've been having with the PFNers. Insanity, much like chicken soup, is good for the soul.

**Willow Rose**: The fop killing comes later... please be patient...

**Songwind:** I'm going to use your Plot Moderator thing, kind of, so I'll give you credit when it shows up. Thanks!

**Celtic Heart**: I'm sure Stalker Erik loves to hear that he has fans... LOL... ya hear that, Erik? "Can I be any funnier?" What is that, a request:)

**Dimac99:** I'm going to steal some of your chapter titles. Seriously. I'll give you credit when the time comes.

**Musique et Amour**: I'll let you know when its going to end... not for a while, hopefully. unless my Well of Insanity dries up... (rattles the chain meaningfully)

**Mademoiselle Phantom**: Best line? BEST LINE? YAY! Thank you!

**Starbrow**: Nah, that line was my own. Glad it sounded Leroux-ish, though— writing half of JJC Beowulf's "Folie a Deux" trained me to writing like Leroux, and I enjoyed it.

**Johanna Gen**: I spelled Hugh's name wrong? Oops— well, I didn't have any idea who he was even, till I asked on PFN, and I think someone there spelt it that way— so— (shrug) So that makes it NOT my fault! Ha ha! And I'll put you in anyway.


	10. Episode X Random Self Insertion

**Chapter 10**

"It's a good thing," Random went on at length, "that I finally showed up, because to be perfectly honest you guys were making a mess of this phic. A glorious mess, a well-reviewed and popular mess, but a mess nonetheless." She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "I'm not saying that my presence will help clear things up," she added, "but at least now I'll be able to enjoy things firsthand. Speaking of which—"

Taking in a very deep breath to both calm and encourage herself, she walked first to Kay Erik, then Leroux Erik, then to Crawford Phantom, removing their masks as necessary and pressing a kiss to each cheek. She was humming to herself quietly and had to keep suppressing giggles— the rest of the Writers watched her in dumbfounded bafflement as she went. Finally she reached Gerry Phantom, quietly asked for a leg up from Stalker Erik, and, upon receiving it, put her arms around Gerry Phantom's neck and kissed him for about five minutes. On finally coming up for air, she smiled cheerfully, gestured to Stalker Erik that he could put her down now, and folded her arms and looked smug at the other Writers.

"Ah, come on, you know you always wanted to do that."

"Sure," said Mandy, finally closing her mouth, "but we never _did_—"

"Kind of a waste, isn't it? To write a story, make yourself be in it along with your favourite fictional characters, and then not take advantage of it? I mean, even The Maiden Amorisa knew better than that. Admittedly, she got off with the wrong guy, in my opinion, but I suppose every dog must have his day, regardless of whether they have a ponytail or not. And look at Stalker Erik over here— he knew what to do with a good thing when he saw one. Suddenly you can make things happen— why not blow up a fop?"

"I still think that was mean," piped up sparklyscorpion.

"Well, can't be helped now," said Random genially. "So— you guys are starting to regret the nine chapters you've spent here without really doing anything, aren't you?" There were slow nods from every single one of the Writers. Random nodded herself, and tipped her head to one side and gave a slow grin. "Right then. Now that I've brought it to your attention— you have ten minutes before I stop anything from happening. Aaaaand—" she checked her watch, " go."

The Writers stared at her blankly.

"But—" they said.

"Go, go," urged Random. "Ten minutes, I said. Nine and thirty-five seconds, now. Twenty-five seconds with any of the Eriks is not something to be sneezed at. Or coughed at. Not something to have any bodily function practiced at, is what I'm trying to say."

Most of them had gotten the point by now, and were frantically trying to tear the Eriks away from each other. Sarah Crawford remained behind, trying to figure it out.

"But," she said.

Random looked at her with a bit of impatience. "Look, you've got a better chance of doing whatever you want than anyone else. Nobody else wants Crawford Phantom."

"But—"

"Go! Go! Live! Be young! Sow wild oats while the sun shines! Let now not be the winter of your discontent! Practice free-fallin'! Spread your wings and fly, fly away! Play golf in the nude! Anything! Take advantage of your opportunity to—"

"Tea!" said Sarah Crawford, finally breaking into Random's spiel. "I just want to have tea with Crawford Phantom. That's all."

Random stared at her for a minute.

"Well— of course. I knew that. Of course. Dear Sarah Crawford, you may have as long as you like to take tea with Crawford Phantom. All the time in the world. I'm sure he'll be pleased," she added. "After Brightman Christine, any female would come as a relief."

Sarah Crawford thanked her breathlessly and went off to take tea with Crawford Phantom. Random looked around at her handiwork and saw that it was good. She chuckled fiendishly and sat down next to Stalker Erik, who looked bored.

"No Christine for you?"

"Thank you, no," said Stalker Erik.

"Huh. And The Maiden Amorisa is still in the bedroom with Raoul?"

Stalker Erik dragged a hand over his face and then fixed a stern glare on Random's innocent smile. "Why do those two questions follow each other, may I ask?"

"No reason, no reason." Random checked her watch and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. Even with platform shoes she barely reached five feet, and she looked for all the world like an inoffensive, unworldly twelve-year-old, not at all like someone who was likely to jump up and start shouting numbers for no apparent reason, which is what she did.

"Five and fifty three!" she said loudly, then sat back down.

Activities in the lair went somewhat faster now, as no one had managed to corner an Erik on their own, with the exception of Sarah Crawford, and sparklyscorpion who had managed to capture the Robert Englund Phantom and was explaining to him, in no uncertain terms, why "slasher" Phantoms were her favourites.

A bit later Random bounced back up again.

"Four even!"

The majority of the Writers had managed to land kisses on their favourite Phantoms, but there was clearly not going to be enough time to take things any further than that. Random chuckled fiendishly as she sat back down.

Stalker Erik shook his head at her.

"You enjoy torturing them like this, don't you?" he said.

"Thoroughly," said Random with an evil smile.

"You sicken me."

"That's nice, dear."

And not too much later, it was all over. As Random procured a whistle and blew it, the Eriks suddenly stopped being compliant with whatever was going on and began roaring and reaching for their punjabs. Random put a stop to that, too, neatly erasing from their minds everything that had gone on in those past ten minutes— except for Crawford Phantom, who was still taking tea and muffins and genially talking about the weather with Sarah Crawford.

"Gather round, please," called Random loudly, and most of the Writers obeyed. The bedroom door creaked open and The Maiden Amorisa emerged, smiling happily and closing the door behind her. She made her way to the rest of the group, who had gathered around to listen and make fun of Random.

"Okay. So, you discovered— finally— that you could make certain things happen by writing them that way. All well and good— behold the power of fiction and all that— took you long enough. Now that you know, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to lay down some ground rules. No making the Eriks do anything that would compromise their personality. Leave the men alone, as far as that goes. Obviously, these Eriks who have spent their lives underneath the Opera House— depending on which version you're taking as a for instance— and only loved Christine Daae, are not going to drop everything and sleep with the first Phan-Phic Writer who looks cross-eyed at them. Though why looking cross-eyed at someone should particularly turn anyone on I don't know—"

"Its 'look twice,'" said Hoshi.

"What?" said Random.

"Its 'anyone who looks twice,' not, 'anyone who looks cross-eyed.'"

Random glared at her. "I hate being corrected when I'm trying to be amusingly non sequitur-ish! You shut up! You are the audience, I am the author— I outrank you!"

"You stole that from "The Producers," called Adison laconically.

"Who said that!" snapped Random. "Who? Who said that? Well, I'm going to find out who said it, people, and when I do— when I do—" She pointed a quivering finger at them, now highly irritated. "When I do, someone, namely— whoever said that, isn't going to be very happy!"

"Sorry," ventured YoukoElfMaiden, "but did you have a point, a minute or two ago?"

Random took a deep breath. "Right. My point— my point is— I've forgotten what my point was. It happens a lot. Look, just don't do anything that I wouldn't do." She paused and looked worried— clearly this wasn't a very punishing constriction to put on them. "Don't do anything I'd feel embarrassed to show to my mother, okay? How's that?"

There was a chorus of groans from the Writers. Random looked inordinately pleased.

"Clearly, you got the message. Oh. One more thing. Not too long from now, someone— I won't say who— is going to write something drastic in the spirit of revenge, and then the Raouls are going to break loose, and there's going to be a battle, which I won't tell you the outcome of, and then there's going to be a hostage situation of sorts, followed by the possibility of a pool party." She stopped talking and looked quizzically at them. "Is that too much information?"

Stalker Erik raised his hand. "Would it be too much," he began, "to ask why this whole thing got started? I mean, why put all the Eriks together in one lair in the first place? And then, for God's sake, why follow them with all the Christines? Not to mention us— it just doesn't seem— sane, somehow."

"Well, that's easily taken care of," said Random with a shrug. "It_ isn't_ sane. Why, are you not enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, no, not at all, I'm having a ball. Two, in fact. Look, Random, can't I— hey!" Suddenly enraged, Stalker Erik turned on The Maiden Amorisa, who for the past five minutes had been standing behind him with a blissful expression on her face. "Stop pinching me! You are interrupting my narrative flow!"

She kept the daft smile, and he had to slap her hand away as she reached for him again. He turned an infuriated glance on Random.

"This is_ your_ fault!"

Random shrugged. "She paid me, buster. Big bucks."

He thought about this for a minute, and then reached for his wallet. A smile drifted onto Random's face and she stood up straight and took notice.

"That's right, baby— hand it over— got to make this writing gig pay somehow." She chuckled gleefully as she pocketed the bills. "Alright. What form shall your revenge take, my good man?"

Stalker Erik thought about this for a good long time and then, with an evil smile, leaned down to whisper his devilish commands in Random's ear.

It took a while.

When finally he pulled away she shook her head. "Sorry. That's my bad ear. This—" she pointed at her other ear. "This is the good one."

He gave a small sigh and crossed to the other side, and whispered again, a bit louder this time. Random listened with a vague smile. When he stepped back she turned a grin on him.

"Nope, I was wrong— it's the other one after all."

The process was repeated, with a frustrated sigh escaping Stalker Erik.

"Nope, still didn't get it."

He did it again, louder.

"Nope."

Louder.

"Nnnnope."

Louder.

"Uh-uh."

Shouting.

"I WANT TO HOLD HER UNDER THE LAKE FOR AN HOUR AND THEN MAKE HER GET MARRIED TO THE FOP AND THEN DROP HER OFF A PLANE AND THEN PUNJAB HER AND THEN—"

"Gah!" said Random, twisting a finger in her ear, "you don't have to shout. I'm not deaf, you know."

"Hey, does anybody have chapstick?" said The Maiden Amorisa brightly, apparently completely oblivious to the Erik-induced threat to her life. Stalker Erik, looking ready to give up entirely, dug in his pocket and produced a slim cylindrical object, which he handed to her. "Thanks!" she said, giving him a bright and cheerful grin, and walked off, applying it.

He turned back to Random with a world-weary smile.

"Well, I lost a good glue-stick," he said, "but I gained a few hours of silence."

Random grinned at him, and turned to make her goodbyes.

"Goodbye, Eriks— see you later— goodbye Writers— Mandy, we should make more writing deals sometime— Adison, the world's greatest PR agent— Hoshi and Renee17 and the rest of my minions, you are great minions, and very good with the shoes, and the carrot cake, and the Gerry— Killthefop, keep up the good work— the rest of you— Erik—" She motioned Stalker Erik to bend down, and planted a fond kiss on his forehead. "Greatest pretend husband on earth. Or on PFN, anyway. At least I think you are. I've never belonged to anyone else's harem, though, so I don't have a way to compare and I could be mistaken. Okay, gang, hate to run so quick but, y'know, busy life and all that—" She faced the lair at large and wiggled her fingers at them all, giving a last grin. "Enjoy the rest of the phic! Oh, and give me lots of reviews! You all owe me!"

She pulled out her notebook and scribbled a few lines on it, and in a puff of flame and smoke, she was gone.

Her voice drifted to them from somewhere over their heads.

"_Behold the power of fiction_—" it intoned eerily, and then she giggled like mad. "_Man, I love doing this."_

* * *

**A/N: I thought I had something intelligent to say, but apparently I don't. Um, it'd take too long to do review replies right now, I'll do them next time, but thank you all for not lynching me on the self-insertion thing. It's happened before, I got complaints, and my reaction was to kill myself off. Rather amusingly. Twice. :) A few notes... Stalker Erik now has nearly as many phangirls as Kay Erik, which is wrong. And somebody, don't remember who, asked about how the title of the last chapter fit in.**

**Um.**

**Fopcorn.**

**Exploding Raoul.**

**Got it now?**

**Till next time, I remain... yr obd wrtr, Rndm**


	11. Episode XI An Unappreciated Cameo From A...

**Just a few replies this time... I know, I say that a lot. But I mean it. Everyone, you may assume that, in the last chapter, you got at least a minute with your favourite Erik, is that alright:)**

**Anche: **You can be in it anyway, if you want... I think you'd make an even fifty.

**EriksAngel1870:** It seems everyone liked the Stalker Death-Threat. All I can say is, on PFN, they're a dime a dozen... :)

**Clever Lass**: I'll try to tone down the in-joke-iness... its hard though, with most of the people in here being PFNers and all. But I'll try. Just for you. Cuz you gave me reviews. Okay?

**Slina: **Apparently Crawford Phantom was more popular than I thought...

**Longblacksatinlace**: Ah, see, you may be left-handed like me, but I've got you beat in the shortness department. Four foot eight, anyone?

**Songwind**: **CHAPTER DEDICATION **to you for the Phic-Moderator Idea.

**ChristineX**: **CHAPTER DEDICATION **to you, too, for giving me the pool-party idea so long ago. It was meant to have been bigger but somehow...

**Gavvie**: Going to see Phantom. Way cooler than anything political, I promise you. Throw tomatoes at Raoul, instead.

**Musique et Amour:** (forehead kiss) Right, that's enough of that.

**DarkPriestessofAssimbya**: Oh, I'll show back up again. (wink) You're on the list now, by the way.

**Hoshi**: (sigh) So happy PFN was back up in a reasonably short time. I was running arond like a head with my chicken cut off. It was TERRIBLE!

**Librarian of the Deep**: I gave you an idea? (nervous) With the glue-stick thing? Oh dear.

**Foreveriseternallymine**: blue eyes, green eyes, who cares. Well, I do like green eyes better, but you know what... I don't like Gerry for his eyes. (breathes in deep) There, I said it. :)

**lazy.kender**: I know that joke! I made Carl the Friar tell it in my Van Helsing fic! Aeons ago— I'm not technically blond. What with the advent of summer, though. I will be pretty soon— ah the first sunburn of the season. Ouch. Ouch ouch ouch.

**LuvinLivnReadn**: Another Stalker fan. (sigh) Of course I got to kiss Gerry Phantom, I'm writing this thing. It'd just be a tragedy if I didn't take advantage of it, right? (grin)

**Chapter Eleven:Unappreciated Cameo By A Snot Bubble**

Chaos, as usual, ensued, as soon as Random left. It took the form mostly of arguments between the Eriks as to whether it really was chaos, since it kept happening and now seemed to be the normal course of events.

"In this life," said Crawford Phantom rationally, "we must expect there to be some upheavals in the course of everyday existence."

"Agreed," said Kay Erik, "but I think this is rather a lot of upheavals for one day, don't you, hmm? Several hundred other versions of me showing up, followed by—"

"Yes, we know the drill," interrupted Gerry Phantom. "What I want to know is, why am I suddenly compelled to flirt with every female I see?"

Crawford Phantom and Kay Erik stared at him. Leroux Erik broke in.

"Of all the gall, to say that this is your lair! It is mine, I tell you, and belongs to me. I will not suffer it taken away from me. I order you— I_ command_ you, to get out at once and leave me to my solitude." He turned away from them and folded his arms— his glance suddenly lighted on the passed-out form of Real Christine and he gave a cry of alarm and fell on her, gathering her up in his embrace. He began to try and carry her to the bedroom, but found when he got there that it was locked, and someone had pocketed the key. Locked doors are not a good thing to put in front of the Phantom of the Opera, and from then on all the conversation in the lair was carried on over the sound of impatient banging and frustrated screaming.

The Writers were having a different discussion. This stemmed from the fact that several of them were writing fop deaths with every evidence of enjoyment, and sparklyscorpion took offense at this.

"Why can't you just leave them alone? They didn't do anything to you!"

"They prevented Erik from being with his true love!" said Phantomy-cookies. "Whaddya mean, they didn't do anything to us?"

"Of, for goodness sake," said sparklyscorpion testily. There was a series of booms from where the Raouls were hidden and some maniacal laughter from Killthefop, who had written herself a captains hat that said "Chief Overseer of Fop-Killing," and sparklyscorpion threw her hands in the air and raced to the barricade to help the wounded.

Most of the Eriks were huddled in conference over in a corner, discussing the situation. Stalker Erik attempted to join them but after being threatened repeatedly with a punjab he took the hint and returned to his fellow Writers. Now, he sat on the ground absent-mindedly scrawling music notes in the margins of his notebook.

Eventually he began to sing.

"_I will, I will, she sighed to my request— and then she tossed her mane while my resolve was— _"

There was a startled silence from the Eriks in the corner, a massive and immediate return of the punjab threat, and Stalker Erik promptly shut up.

"Keep going," said The Maiden Amorisa.

"What, and get killed for my pains? I don't like singing _that_ much."

"Hmm," said The Maiden Amorisa thoughtfully. She was scribbling on her notepad as well, having had her fill of Patrick Raoul, who was still locked in the bedroom and, from the sound of things, still crying, adding his wails to the shrieks of Leroux Erik, who was now attempting to punjab the door and, needless to say, failing. Stalker Erik stood and paced back and forth across the room.

"Its not fair that everyone gets to kill a fop, now," he said.

"Why, did you think only _men_ could do that?" sneered Sydney the Poet.

"No, its just— its just not fair! I liked it when I was the one who got to kill the fop— I was the comic relief— now I'm relegated to secondary character status again and The Maiden Amorisa won't leave me alone and I—" As he spoke, the buttons on his shirt started undoing themselves. He snatched them together in both hands and turned an infuriated glare on The Maiden Amorisa.

"Do the words 'dismembered body parts strewn across four continents' mean anything to you?"

She thought about it.

"We're going to take a trip?" she suggested brightly. Stalker Erik sighed, shook his head at her for a moment, and then decided he was fed up with it all. He picked up her feet, dragged her to the lake, and threw her in, before wading in after her and trying to strangle her. She managed to avoid him, just barely, by striking out for the opposite bank. Not realizing how shallow the water was, halfway through she got a cramp and sank shrieking into the depths never to be seen again— except that I promised I wouldn't kill people off unless they asked for it, so Raoul's horse, who had amusing itself on the opposite shore by peeing on everything in sight, saved her just in time.

Stalker Erik made it back to shore in time to join in the discussion about what should and what shouldn't be messed with.

"We can't change each other," said EriksAngel1870 rationally. "We can only change fictional characters."

"The issue of the shirt would seem to disprove that," said ElfLover.

"My shirt?" asked Stalker Erik.

"Yours— and mine," sighed Le Chat. Where before she had been wearing a perfectly normal beige t-shirt, someone had transformed that into a bikini top with pink bows on it. Glancing around, Stalker Erik spotted Gerry Phantom hunched in a corner with a pen and paper.

"Well, they've figured it out," he said resignedly.

"But they shouldn't be able to mess with us," said Mademoiselle Daae. "We're_ real_."

"Its reality that we can change," said Librarian of the Deep. "_That's_ the power of fiction."

"Would you stop saying that?" snapped A-Lonely-Dreamer-56.

"Okay, look, no more messing with each other, okay?_ We_ are strictly out of bounds. Hey!" Celtic Heart leapt after Adison, who had managed to make her, briefly, bald, with a t-shirt that said _I'm Too Sexy For My Hair, That's Why It Isn't There._

Songwind stood up.

"That's enough of that!" she said. "I hereby proclaim myself the official Phic Moderator." She snapped her fingers and a hat appeared on her head that said PM in fancy letters.

Phantress blinked dazedly at her.

"How did you do that?"

"I wrote it down," said Songwind, motioning to her notebook. Phantress glanced at it— the page said _Songwind snapped her fingers and a hat appeared on her head that said PM in fancy letters._

"Cool," said Phantress.

"And now, as Phic Moderator— I demand that something interesting happen!"

As if in answer to her statement— in fact, it was in answer to her statement— at least, you can assume it was, if you believe that she is in fact the official Phic Moderator— which you might not— anyway, there was a tremendous crash from the direction of the labyrinth and a moment later sparklyscorpion came running in.

"I gave them grenades!" she said. "They were just so helpless back there behind the barricade and you guys were picking them off one by one— was— was that not a good idea?"

Alarms began to go off around the lair, leading the Writers to wonder what had caused Leroux Erik to put grenade-detectors in. This was an interesting line of thought, but as the first wave of Raouls came thundering and shrieking into the lair, there was no time to consider it. Most of the Writers rushed for the bedroom, closing themselves in.

Phantom versus Fop should be an easy contest, but with the superior firepower sparklyscorpion had bestowed on them, the Raouls were clearly going to make some headway, despite the fact that they only figured out how to use the grenades by accident, when one of them tried to eat one— luckily, the Christines were still devoted to the Eriks, and they got in the way.

There was about ten minutes of explosions before the fops ran out of grenades, and when it was over, all but a few of the Christines lay dead and dying. This completely unmanned the fops, of course, and then the crying started.

The Eriks took in the carnage with furious eyes, though a few of them were sorely tempted to brush their hands off and take the whole thing at a loss— to be rid at once of both the Christines and the Raouls seemed suddenly unbelievably enticing. These ones left before the battle was joined, wading into the lake and striking out for the opposite shore.

The rest of the Eriks moved forward, menace undeniable in their eyes, punjabs held in their hands, the wild light of their madness glittering in their eyes—

From one side, Gerry Phantom, who was too handsome to truly be a murderer, and Crawford Phantom, who was too well-bred, treated the whole thing as a spectator sport, and cheered the home team on. Kay Erik and Leroux Erik led the charge into the midst of the devastated Raouls— and at this point we will draw a veil over the carnage, much to everyone's disappointment, and turn to the scene in the bedroom, where fifty Writers and one fop were trapped in close quarters.

There were various yelps as the sound of the battle that was being waged outside the door got to a few of the weaker ones, and then there was a yelp from Patrick Raoul. Sparklyscorpion tugged Stalker Erik's hands away before he managed to kill him, however.

"Hey!"

"Will you stop trying to kill people? Honestly, you'd think you were five years old!"

Stalker Erik frowned and blinked quizzically. "Why— do five year olds try to kill people?"

"Look, I don't know what I meant by that sentence, but I'm sure I meant something!"

"Hey!" yelped VegaOfTheLyre as she was knocked into a wall. "Can you stop shoving, please?"

"Nearly fifty people in a small room," reminded eyesofatragedy. "There's not a lot else to do."

"Look, the bed's empty," pointed out Mademoiselle Phantom.

"Yeah, get in the bed!" shouted DarkPriestessofAssimbya.

There was a general rush as twenty of them tried to sit on the bed at once. Only twelve of them made it, and the rest ended up being shoved to the floor. Meta-Chi stood up, brushed herself off, and scowled.

"This entire situation is ridiculous! The stupidity of this is surpassed only by— well, lets face it, this surpasses everything. For how eager we were to kill the fops, its kind of strange that we are now hiding from them."

"Well, _somebody_ gave them grenades," said pOtOgurl417, turning a glare on sparklyscorpion.

"I'm the official Raoul Protector! What was I supposed to do, just let you guys pick them off one by one? Stalker Erik, if you don't let go of Patrick Raoul's throat I am going to_ hurt_ you!"

Stalker Erik froze and then, very carefully, let go of Patrick Raoul's throat and patted his hair back into place.

"I wasn't doing anything— "

"We should be out there helping," said Phantom's Fallen Angel. "Not in here, cowering. The explosions have stopped, I would assume that means the grenades have run out."

"What if it means they're all dead?" called longblacksatinlace forlornly. Phantom's Fallen Angel glared at her.

"Obviously, the only way we're going to find out is if we go out there. Are you with me, gang?"

There was a quiet murmur from the Writers. This was not enough.

"I said, are you _with_ me?"

Unfortunately, it was all they were willing to give. Phantom's Fallen Angel sighed heavily and headed for the door.

She was halfway there when there came a strident knock, and her reaction was to squeak and run away.

They all stared at the door.

The knock came again.

They flinched.

"Obviously, someone has to open the door," said Mandy the O.

Nobody moved.

The knock sounded again, and Stalker Erik shook his head. "That knock is bad news, believe you me," he whispered.

"We believe you," muttered the Writers.

_Bang!_

And this time, underneath the sound, was the petulant voice of The Maiden Amorisa, saying, "Let me in, for the love of Pete! There's dead people out here!"

The Writers let out their breaths, and someone went to open the door.

"Told you it was bad news," said Stalker Erik, but they ignored him.

The Maiden Amorisa bounced in, bestowing a fond glance on the inert and shaking form of Patrick Raoul, who had finally given in and just fainted dead away. "You would not believe the loads of bodies out there," she said cheerfully. "Its like a— "

"War zone?" suggested SimplyElymas.

"Battlefield?" offered ButterflyOfLothlorien.

"— video game."

"Ah."

Tentatively, and fearing greatly for their Eriks, a few of the Writers poked their heads out the door.

For a moment it looked like there was nothing there. Then in the gloom, they perceived the forms of the Eriks, most of them anyway, standing quietly, talking amongst themselves.

Kay Erik looked up as a few of the Writers came towards them. He smiled faintly underneath his mask.

"Where are the fops?" asked lazy.kender. "What happened?"

"It was a mighty battle," said Kay Erik, looking down at his hands and twisting his excitingly-long fingers together. "There were a great many casualties— all on their side. Except for the Christines that we lost— there were several of them— most of them, in fact."

"But where are they? What happened to the bodies?"

"They disappeared," said Crawford Phantom. He looked a bit shaky. "We _are_ fictional, after all— once we die here, in this story, we go back to our other haunts, our other tales— there is no truly killing a good character— "

"_We are fictional, after all_," whispered Gerry Phantom, kneeling, crushing a rose in his fingertips, and displaying a snot bubble to prove that he was crying. "_We truly are fictional_—"

This would be a lovely and important realization to end the chapter on, seeing as it relates to finally coming to grips with the fact that life is precious, and shouldn't be wasted, shouldn't be squandered, and all you can do is do what you can with the time that is given to you, and a million other cliches which have been adequately represented in movies like The Lord of the Rings. However, its also kind of a downer, and so I will add that they went on to have a pool party.

As the Writers sat on hastily-conjured deck chairs, sipping lovingly-conjured drinks with umbrellas and fresh fruit in them, watching hundreds of Eriks, shirtless, ducking each other in the lake to wash off the dust of battle, there was a definite feeling of—_ something_.

Hoshi put it best, perhaps.

Raising her glass so she could look through it at the swimming Eriks, she said, "Here's to older men."

There was a murmur of assent.

At that point, it was not the sort of thing you disagreed with.


	12. Episode XII Singing Lessons

**I know it took me longer than usual to update, but I was a bit... busy, shall we say? As usual...**

**Scarlett Red Rose**: Are you the one who wrote that one-shot on the Phantom forgetting his instructions? HA! That was great! I'd had the idea before, so it wasn't actually stealing yours... just so you know... but I think I reviewed yours when I read it, cuz it was awesome... and of course you may be in the phic anyway. (adds you to the long list)

**darksidetwin2**: Nope, not the end! You can't get rid of me that easy—

**A-Lonely-Dreamer-56:** Glad you're happy with your insertion—

**Librarian of the Deep:** I take it your sister doesn't laugh much?

**Ludivine**: Thank you.

**EriksAngel1870**: Hmm... what's another word for thesaurus?

**Ophicial-Phan:** Reviewing is good. I love reviews. I will put you in if you promise on Erik's Ring to review every chapter... ah, I'll put you in anyway. :)

**ButterflyOfLothlorien**: I was looking back through old reviews and I thought I saw that you had asked to be in, but I'd forgotten... so I put you in...

**gavvie**: Too bad about Phantom selling out. I was going to go see it... till my trip to NY was canceled... (grumbles)

**pOtOgurl417**: Someday I'm going to check out everyone's profile and see if I actually AM in any of them.

**DarkPriestessofAssimbya**: That means you can join the Left-Handers Club! Not a lot of us in there, but you and other lefties are welcome— it doesn't actually mean anything other than an excuse to shut out the rest of the population. :) Kay and Leroux Erik are in there, I'm in there—

**lazy.kender**: Fish ARE vegetables. Whatever made you think they weren't?

**Willow Rose**: Just wait till the outtakes. Remember how most of your reviews involved the sharpening of knives and the contemplation of fop killing? (wink)

**Songwind: **Like the hat? Hats are good. I just bought two hats last Friday. Terms of Endearment is currently on hiatus, following a deep depression that came on after I my computer ate the next two chapters. Hopefully I'll manage to pull out of it soon.

**anche:** You want to be killed off too? What is it with people? I'll see what I can do.

**letthedreamdescend:** (adds you to the list)

**The Singing Fox Demon:** I'm on PFN as... DUN DUN DUNNN! Random Battlecry. Usually hang around the Phic Squeeing Thread on Phantom Art with the stalker and various other phictional characters. That... was an odd sentence.

**SimplyElymas:** Thank you!

**RoseWithABlackRibbon**: Thank you as well. Laugh at grenades. People may look at you funny but at least you're amusing yourself.

**THELadyRedDeath**: Chaos is fun too. Lost of things are fun.

**Mandy the O:** (faints after reading the last chapter of AEoT) Way to keep the pulse racing— I'm going to go take some organ lessons now.

**Dimac99**: It was too a snot bubble! It was! It was! I know snot when I see it!

**Phantom'sFallen Angel**: See author's note. :)

**LuvinLivnReadn**: The snot bubble is actually from the movie— right after the sickening All I Ask Of You part, when Gerry is kneeling on the roof holding the rose up to his face, when he looks like he's about to eat it? Snot bubble in his left nostril. You can see the light shining off of it.

**sparklyscorpion**: Long reviews. YAY LONG REVIEWS! See, this is why I hook you up with your CSL. ("Creepy Slasher Love") And yes, Stalker Erik is afraid of you. Because you hit him repeatedly.

**Foreveriseternallymine**: When I cry, runny nose, yes. Snot bubble, no. At least not in public. But then I try to avoid crying in public anyway. I'm tougher than I look. (puts up fists)

**Mademoiselle Phantom**: (holds out her firstborn for all to see) She gave the child to me! It is mine now! Mwa-ha-ha-ha! (the kid throws up over her shoulder) Here, have it back. No spanking— I don't think. No I mean, spanking of the Eriks. Spank the child all you want. But when CPS comes for you, run.

**longblacksatinlace:** Thanks for reviewing!

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx:** And thank you...

**ElfLover**: Not over. A few more chapters, that's all. (maniacal laughter)

**EmailGirl:** Yay, everybody liked the ending line... that's great. I kind of liked it myself. I wish I actually knew some older men that weren't all— grotty.

**bundles 'o joy:** (sticks your "moment" with Gerry Phantom in the outtakes)

**Musique et Amour:** Your reviews are getting shorter... and shorter... and shorter... are you sitting on them as you write:) Anyway, your first request as you know is fulfilled. The second one is kind of attended to, but you get more of it in the outtakes.

**CelticHeart**: I do the torture. Stalker Erik kills them. It works. :)

**The Maiden Amorisa**: Okay... lots of love... good... I guess...

**Killthefop: **(cuddles the plushie again) Thank you.

**A/N: I feel it is only right to warn you that I finished writing this thing, and the phic proper comes to 14 chapters in total. (watches people blink and not care very much) However, I've also written a bunch of outtakes and unused ideas, most of which were suggested by you guys, so that should make you happy. (watches "cuddle time with Gerry" mouthed by about ten different people) Right, whatever. There are also interviews with the REAL people in the phic, and an alternate ending, and credits, and a "Where Are They Now" section, and an After Party. And now— **

**CHAPTER TWELVE Singing Lessons**

They began to take stock of the damage that had been done. The lair was in a shambles, pockmarked with holes where the grenades had gone off. There were only a few Christines left— Brightman Christine had been lost in the carnage and Crawford Phantom entered into mourning for her; Real Christine had been saved, however, as she was still passed out when the fops attacked, and Emmy Christine had found the largest muffin she could and hid behind it. Not very well, as muffins are not known for their protecting capabilities, at least where larger firepower is concerned, but she had managed to escape virtually unharmed. A handful of the Writers who had gotten shut out of the room had passed on, as well, but we didn't know them by name, so it doesn't matter.

None of the Eriks, it turned out, had died. This was in itself a cause of great rejoicing, and for a while all were content to be still and enjoy the silence.

Except for Kay Erik, who looked happier than he ever had before.

He moved with a bounce in his step, and hummed occasionally under his breath, as he knelt in the shallows of the lake and washed himself. Gradually the humming became louder, and the Writers began to pay attention. They leant forward in their deck chairs and strained to hear.

The humming grew louder still—

They leaned forward farther.

Louder—

A few of them fell out of their chairs.

And suddenly Kay Erik burst into song.

There was some immediate swooning among the Writers, and a series of dazed expressions, and some weeping at the immaculate beauty of Kay Erik's voice; and all those who hadn't loved him previously, seriously wanted to do him _now_, right there on the bank, because it was that kind of voice, simultaneously sultry and clear, a starlit sonata and smoky as an opium den.

It took someone as cynical as another Phantom to realize what he was singing.

"I say," said Gerry Phantom, frowning slightly, "isn't that—"

"Shh," cautioned Crawford Phantom, gesturing towards the Writers. "They're enjoying it so much— don't interfere with their pleasure."

"But isn't he singing—"

"Yes. Now be quiet."

"But—"

"Hush, man!"

And so Gerry Phantom hushed, and Kay Erik went on to sing the fourth verse of "It's a Small World, After All."

Two hours later, when he finally reached the last reprise, the Writers burst into applause. There were shouts of "Encore! Encore!" but the Eriks quickly silenced these.

And then people settled in for a long night.

"Its difficult to believe," said Willow Rose, frowning at the ceiling, "that this has only been one day. I mean, so much has happened—"

"Yeah," agreed ChristineX. "Twelve chapters worth."

"Oh, at least."

Most of them drifted into comforting dreams of phan-fiction with a thousand reviews.

"I can't sleep," said Hoshi, and sat up. She glanced at Leroux Erik, who sat a little ways away, tending to Real Christine. "Don't you have anything to read, or something?"

Leroux Erik looked at her for a moment, then wordlessly went into the bedroom. He returned with two thick books, one of which he handed to Hoshi, who looked at ti.

"Adventures in Microwave Cooking?"

He took it back, and handed her the other one.

"Muffins: A History," she read aloud. "Volume III?"

Leroux Erik tipped his head to one side.

"Is there a problem, mademoiselle?"

"Oh, no, no. No. No. It just seems— curiously appropriate, somehow."

Leroux Erik gave a slight bow and left her to read. With the aid of the book, she very quickly fell asleep.

The Eriks, who did not sleep very often, congregated in the far corner to discuss the situation some more. They were joined by Stalker Erik, who was wishing fervently for a laptop and an Internet connection, and eventually by Patrick Raoul, who was hugging a blanket around his shoulders and sat down in the midst of them as though they were best friends.

They stared at him.

"What do you want here, Monsieur le Vicomte?" inquired Kay Erik in his silkily dangerous voice.

"I spent practically the whole day asleep— when I wasn't being ravaged or attacked," said Patrick Raoul defensively. "I am bored, sir."

"And in your boredom you would risk your life to enjoy the company of the Opera Ghost?" said Kay Erik.

"Ghosts," said Gerry Phantom.

"That is what I said."

"No, I mean— ghosts, plural."

Kay Erik fixed a glare on him and then turned back to Raoul without speaking. Gerry Phantom wasn't content to let it go.

"Because its not just you, you know— there's a whole bunch of us. Now. In case you couldn't tell. Ghosts."

Kay Erik continued to ignore him, the back of his sleekly-shining head serving as an insult.

"Because, see, you said 'ghost.' As in one ghost. That's what you said. But there's more than one. And I was just correcting you. Because I don't like to be ignored. I've had my demands ignored more times than you can count, and I don't like it. Its annoying. I think that—"

Without moving his gaze from Patrick Raoul's face, Crawford Phantom lifted his hand and laid it delicately across Gerry Phantom's mouth, effectively silencing him.

"Thank you," sighed Kay Erik.

There was a pause while hundreds of malicious phantom eyes fixed on Patrick Raoul, who shrugged and said, "Well, I _was_ bored. And I am still bored. Does no one have any cards? Or some whiskey, perhaps."

"No," breathed Leroux Erik. "No _cards_— no _whiskey_— _perhaps you would care to fight a duel, monsieur—_"

"Er, no thank you," said Patrick Raoul.

It was a rather inopportune moment for Emmy Christine to show up, and so of course she did. Gerry Phantom leapt to his feet and tried to block her from Patrick Raoul, but she saw him. And he saw her.

In the air between them was the same sort of sickeningly-sweet feeling that had passed that night on the roof, when they sang loudly at each other, accidentally spitting in each other's face, and using the duet as an excuse to snog repeatedly. Gerry Phantom muttered quiet curses to himself as Patrick Raoul stood and came to Emmy Christine's side.

"You came for me," said Emmy Christine, her mouth open.

"Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way to the lair beyond the lake, to take back the Christine that was stolen," answered Patrick Raoul, rather unoriginally.

"Oh, Raoul!"

"May I speak to you, Christine?"

"Oh, Raoul!"

"Over here, if you don't mind," he added, turning a mistrustful glare on Gerry Phantom, who was staring at him balefully and breathing with his mouth open and teeth bared in what was almost definitely not a friendly grin.

"Oh, Raoul!"

"Is that a yes?"

"Oh, Raoul!"

"Christine, listen to me. I need you to concentrate— concentrate, that's it— and tell me— do you really want to be down here in this dark and dreary lair with a Phantom?"

Christine tried, admirably, to come up with an intelligent answer to that. She concentrated so hard her eyes eventually crossed and Kay Erik frowned, sniffed, and said, "Is something burning?"

Finally she said, "I don't know!"

Patrick Raoul said, soothingly, "I understand, Christine. The presence of these monsters is making you uneasy."

"Hey!" said Stalker Erik, immediately taking offense.

"I was not referring to you."

"Oh. Hey!" he said, taking offense again. "Why not? I'm an Erik, same as— other Eriks." He turned to Crawford Phantom. "Aren't I?"

"Of course," muttered Crawford Phantom.

"Thank you."

"Let us go over to the other corner where we can confer in private, and perhaps— sing a duet."

Patrick Raoul drew her away from the group of Eriks.

Gerry Phantom sighed heavily and shook his head. "I don't know what she sees in him. Obviously I would be the better choice."

"Well, you know what they say," said Stalker Erik philosophically. "Love is blind. Ooh," he added as Patrick Raoul began to sing, "and deaf as well."

"I do not know what _you_ see in _her,_" said Kay Erik pointedly. "Her constant expression is curiously disturbing. The only word for it is 'vapid.'"

"Well, no, not the _only_ word," corrected Crawford Phantom thoughtfully. "But it is a remarkably good way of describing it."

"I find it singularly appropriate," Kay Erik went on, disregarding Crawford Phantom and waving the copy of the musical that someone had given him, "that part of her lyrics are 'no thoughts within her head.'"

"There's a lot more to it than that!" said Gerry Phantom, offended.

Meanwhile, the song that Patrick Raoul sang went something like this:

"_Christine, my Christine—_

_Christine, you are my Christine, Christine—_

_Christine Christine Christine—_

_Ooooooooooh— my Christine—" _

And then Emmy Christine broke in and, quite unexpectedly, sang,

"_Play that funky music, white boy—_

_Play that funky music— riiiiiiiight!_"

And then they began to harmonize. The harmony was spot on, but hindered somewhat by the fact that they were singing two entirely different songs. Eventually Patrick Raoul segued into,

"_I knew from the moment I saw you_

_That you were mine—_

_My Christine—_

_My Christine—_

_My— Chris-tine_— "

Which seemed to match up a bit better, but Emmy Christine quickly went on to sing "Seventy-Six Trombones" complete with gestures. The quizzical looks on the faces of the Eriks was something to behold. Eventually one of them got sick of the music being murdered right in front of their eyes, and tried to kill the fop instead.

Patrick Raoul, once again, escaped by the good offices of sparklyscorpion, who was taking her job seriously. She leapt in front of him with a feral growl and showed her fingernails to the Erik who was coming after him. It would have been more frightening if she hadn't bitten them to the quick, but in times like these, you work with what you've got.

All of the Writers had woken up by this point, and were watching the show with enjoyment. No conclusion had been reached by the conference of Eriks, and now most of them decided it was simply time to leave.

The Writers didn't like this at all.

"You're— going?" choked Mademoiselle Daae. "But— you can't go! It can't be over this soon— it can't end like this!"

The Eriks ignored them and stalked in waves towards the exit.

The Writers stood and stared in horrified amazement at the spectacle of the Phantoms leaving the lair, much as, twelve chapters ago, the Readers had stared in not-horrified amazement at the spectacle of the Phantoms entering it.

"Are we driving them out?" whispered THELadyRedDeath. "Are they leaving because of us?"

"No," said Kay Erik behind them, "we're leaving because this is a stupid story and we want to go to one that at least makes some sense."

"But—"

"Yes, yes, I know, we may have a job finding one that does. But I happen to know there's an opening in one of Random Battlecry's serious phics, and I am not one to sneeze at a gift horse, if you know what I mean."

"No, what do you mean?"

"We can't let this happen!" shouted VegaOfTheLyre. "We can't let them leave!"

"Erik! Come back!" screamed Scarlett Red Rose.

"Erik!" shouted eyesofatragedy.

"Eriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiik!" sang anche, and was punjabbed for hitting the wrong note.

"Erik!" shouted longblacksatinlace.

"What they said!" shouted Killthefop.

"For God's sake take me with you!" begged Stalker Erik, who'd been latched onto once more by The Maiden Amorisa. She tugged as hard as she could and the two of them went over into the lake where, because I want to resolve the innate sexual tension between them, he finally succeeded in drowning her.

"I'm going to do something about this!" shouted Mandy the O, and did. She sat down and scribbled for a moment on her notepad, put a period on the sentence, and all of a sudden there was a gate across the exit— a gate with a shiny lock.

Some of the Eriks had escaped already, and those that were left turned on the Writers in fury, like trapped beasts, which at this point is pretty much what they were. But they'd only succeeded in maiming a few before Mandy held up the key.

"You keep hurting us, I am going to make this key disappear forever," she announced. "I mean it. Trust me, being stuck down here with you guys is not a hardship— not for me, anyway."

The Eriks gradually subsided, though Leroux Erik had his fingers wrapped around a Writer's throat and didn't let go for a while. That was alright, though, as the Writer happened to be ElfLover, a dedicated Leroux Erik phan girl, and didn't seem to mind being strangled as long as it meant he was touching her.

Kay Erik took the floor.

"What do you want from us?" he asked, breathing hard.

This was not a question that the Writer's had been expecting, and it took them some time to come up with an answer, and when they finally did, it wasn't a very good one.

"We'll— uh, we'll have to get back to you on that."

Kay Erik heaved a sigh.

"Listen," said Le Chat peevishly, "its not every day that we have mastery over our favourite fictional character. There's some argument as to what exactly we should do."

"I can imagine," said Kay Erik sourly.

Finally some sort of consensus seemed to be reached, and Meta-Chi, as the designated Spokesperson, laid out the demands as follows:

_1: The Eriks won't attempt to harm any one of us, unless the person is somewhat odd and specifically asks for it._

_2: The Eriks will come to each of us, depending on which is our personal favourite, at least once a week, to visit and for us to squee over._

_3: The Eriks will give any assistance needed as far as writing phics goes._

_4: Gerry Phantom owes us a strip-tease._

"Hey!" said Padfootz-luvr, "we agreed to take that out!"

"Too late," said Killthefop, with a dazed expression. And it was true, for Gerry Phantom had taken them at their word and voluntarily torn his shirt off.

"As for that one, I cannot, apparently, do anything about it. As for the rest—" Kay Erik sighed testily. "It appears that you want to shackle our lives, bind us to your will, hmm?"

"Yes, that's right," said the Writers.

"And, uh, I feel the need to tell you that if these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur," said lazy.kender, chuckling at her own cleverness.

Kay Erik stared balefully at her. "And I feel the need to tell you that you are an idiot."

"Huh?"

Kay Erik heaved a sigh. "Ah, subtle sarcasm— the last refuge of the intelligent stranded among the obtuse."

"I object!" said letthedreamdescend.

"This isn't a court of law!"

"We shall need some time to think about it," said Crawford Phantom, coming up and taking Kay Erik by the arm. Kay Erik snatched his arm away. "Now, er, go off and be good little Writers in the corner, alright? We must discuss this amongst ourselves."

And so the two groups separated, the Writers and their hostages, and much discussion went on. Somewhere above their heads the voice of Random Battlecry floated down— she was discussing things with her minions, her PR agent, and her pretend-husband.

"_I don't know if I can string this out much further."_

"_Aw, come on, boss!"_

"_Yeah, think of your readers. What'll they do without this phic around?"_

"_Um— slowly regain their sanity?"_

There was a pause.

"_Good point."_

"_I'm kind of running out of steam, you see. Considering that this wasn't supposed to go past one chapter, its amazing it lasted this long."_

Another pause.

"_You're right, it is amazing."_

"_Thank you, Jackie_," said Random Battlecry sourly._ "Have any of you anything constructive to add?"_

There was a general silence.

"_Great. That's just great. What are minions for, anyway?"_

"_Shoes," _said Hoshi.

"_And carrot cake," _said phantomzgerl.

"_That's right," _said Random wistfully._ "I was forgetting about the carrot cake—"_

"_Why not muffins?"_ asked darksidetwin12 keenly.

"_Well, I like muffins, too, but they were just a joke, you know. I didn't know they were going to take the world by storm. You know there's an entire religion based on muffins now?"_

"_Really?" _said Misty Breyer

"_No. Good God, you're gullible."_

There was another silence, followed by a few twangs from Masque de Nuit, tuning his guitar in the corner.

"_Is he going to sing?"_

"_Does the Pope poo in the woods?"_ said Celtic Heart tiredly.

Another pause.

"_No."_

"_What?"_

"_No. No, the Pope does not poo in the woods. He lives in the Vatican."_

"_I was trying to be funny."_

"_Well, you failed."_

"_Guys, this is doing nothing for the ending of the chapter."_

"_Sorry Random."_

"_Sorry."_

"_Shoes, please, Hoshi."_

"_Here you are, boss."_

"_Thank you."_

Another pause and a soft grunt from Masque as he broke a guitar string. Random rattled the chain that confined her to the desk.

"_He does drive a Popemobile, though," _said Renee17.

"_What?"_

"_The Pope. He drives a Popemobile."_

"_Oh, how would you know what the Pope drives?"_

"_I read it in the National Enquirer."_

"_What should I play?_" asked Masque de Nuit.

"_Something."_

"_I was planning to."_

"_No, I mean, 'Something,' the George Harrison song."_

"_You know, George Harrison was the Ringo of the Beatles, really."_

"_Brilliant, Adison."_

"_Thank you, Hoshi."_

"_Play 'Something.'"_

"_I don't like that song."_

"_Play it anyway."_

"_I'm not going to play a song I don't like."_

"_Then play anything, play 'Row Row Row Your Boat' for all I care."_

Another pause.

"_Random, you're in a bad mood, aren't you?"_

"_No, I'm not, Erik, I just don't know how to end this chapter. Look, I've gone on for two pages now. People are starting to complain."_

"_Just say 'the end.'"_

"_I can't just say the end, I have an image to uphold."_

"_Bugger your image."_

"_Thank you for that oh-so-adult comment, YoukoElfMaiden."_

"_Well I can't help it, I'm bored."_

"_So am I."_

"_So are your readers,"_ said Masque quietly, and began to play something he had written himself.

There was another pause, and then Random said, _"Hey, I know, lets have an extremely sudden en—"_


	13. Episode IIX Not Really Another Chapter

A/N: No review replies this time. I... I... I haven't the strength. Let me just say A: This chapter and one more. So, obviously, for all those of you who thought "12" meant "14," the last chapter wasn't the end. And neither is this one. The end is not for a good while yet, if I and the mad people in my head have anything to say about it. I will let you know when it is the end. Probably by saying "THE END" or something. B: Over five hundred reviews. Bless you. Bless you all. C: I apologize in advance for this chapter. And despite the chapter title, it really is a chapter. I apologize also, if this misled you in any way.

Chapter Thirteen: Not Really Another Chapter

All was silent in the little room wherein Random sat, scribbling in the margin of her notebook.

"_Great."_

"_What, boss?"_

"_I can't come up with a beginning, either, for the next chapter."_

"_Speaking of which, boss, have you thought of an ending for the phic yet?"_

"_I know the last line— that's about it."_

"_What's the last line?"_

"_Like I'd tell you."_

A pause.

"_I like it."_

"_Stop being facetious. Someone get me some aspirin, please—"_

"_You could end it with a wedding."_

"_Just what are you suggesting, YoukoElfMaiden?"_

"_Oh, you know—"_

"_You just want to marry an Erik."_

"_Oh, me? No, no, no. Alright."_

"_I know," _said Masque de Nuit brightly. "_End it with all the Writers getting punjabbed by Leroux Erik, and then he punjabs all the other Phantoms, too, and then he has his lair back to himself again."_

Another pause.

Then the rest of them said, all at once, _"No!_"

"_Nobody likes my ideas_," mumbled Masque.

Random sighed._ "I think I'm just going to have to resort to more insanity."_

"_So what else is new?"_

"_I'm going to send in all the versions of Phantom— that were ever even imagined."_

"_Won't that be rather messy and confusing?"_

"_At this point, do you think it matters?"_

"_No, I suppose not."_

"_Anyway, that'll give me a chance to use the Antonio Banderas version."_

A shocked silence.

Then a shocked, _"What?"_

"_They were going to cast him before Gerry Butler. I was talking about it with my sister, and trying to figure out what it would have been like—"_

"_What'd you come up with?"_

"_Nothing pretty."_

"_For example?"_

Random switched into her Spanish accent._ "Christ-een! Bring me some tequila, my thro-at is parch-ed, Christ-een! Christ-een, Macarena for-a meeee, Christ-een, for-a meeee!"_

There was another shocked silence, and then subdued snorts.

"_Well, my sister thought it was funny_," said Random, sounding injured.

"_And your sister is how old?"_

"_Well, it is funny! The first time I did it, we laughed so hard— look, you had to have been there."_

"_Do it, boss. Put him in there."_

"_I just might."_

"_Someone suggested we put in the Madame Girys and the Buquets and—"_

"_That's 'Bucket.'"_

"_Is it?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_And Mary-Sues, and everything."_

"_Hmm_," said Random thoughtfully. _"I suppose putting those in would prolong the life of the phic—"_

A breathless silence.

"_But I just don't think I can pull it off."_

"_Aw—"_

"_Don't whine, phantomzgerl."_

"_Aw, but Random—"_

"_You either, Jackie. No, I'm just going to have to bite the bullet and finish the phic."_

"_Aww—"_

"_Oh, come on. You know you're really just a conversation I'm having with myself, and I'm making you protest the ending just to make myself feel better about it."_

"_Stop being realistic, Random, you're sapping the fun out of life."_

"_I think I'll use that line,_" said Random, noting it down for future reference. _"You know, I do feel really bad about cheating people out of a chapter like this— filling it with made-up conversations carried on entirely in italics— perhaps I just won't post this at all. What do you think?"_

Silence.

"_Thanks for the encouragement, guys."_

"_Can't help it, it is kind of stupid to put up a chapter like this."_

"_Well, I feel bad, I really do, but I can't think of a beginning for the next chapter! Look, I'll just have Gerry continue his strip-tease, okay?"_

"_And what is this phic supposed to be rated again?"_

"_I won't show anything. I mean, I can't show anything. Its print. How can one show anything in print?"_

"_I don't know, but considering its Gerry, I wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised if the paper burst into flames."_

There was a bit of a pause.

"_That was an— unusual comment for you to make, Erik."_

"_Look, even I have to admit the guy is hot!"_

"_Yeah, okay, don't get defensive."_

"_I'm not getting defensive! He's just— he's hot, is all. Is there a problem with one guy calling another guy hot?"_

"_Not in some states, no," _said Renee17 quietly.

"_I resent that remark."_

"_Oh, go chase your tail."_

Random shivered. _"There. I wrote it. And now I need to go take a cold shower."_

"_Hey!" _squealed Misty Breyer. _"Sudden thought! I'll bet— that Gerry Butler— takes showers— naked!"_

There was, as usual, a bit of a pause.

"_Moving on," _said Random. _"Hey, has anyone seen my pen?"_

"_No,"_ said Masque de Nuit. Random glared at him.

"_You took my pen, didn't you Erik? You're trying to sabotage the rest of the phic. You want me to stop writing so everyone will go review your poetry, don't you, Erik?"_

"_No," _said Masque, uncomfortably.

"_Give me the pen, Erik!"_

"_I don't have it!"_

"_Give it to me NOW, Erik!"_

"_That was rather unfortunate phrasing—"_

"_I mean it! Why don't you— oh, look, never mind, it fell underneath the desk."_

And so Random retrieved her pen by way of an indirect innuendo, and Gerry Phantom continued his strip-tease, much to the delight of his phan-girls, and the shock of Gerard Butler, who was reading this phic from his New York apartment.

He reached for the power button on his computer and switched it off, muttering, in his sexy Scottish accent, "How can they show this filth on the Internet? I'd be ashamed!"

Heaving a sigh, he went to make some fopcorn, take a long hot shower (naked), and get ready for his date with the now-legal Emmy Rossum.


	14. Episode IX Or Is It?

**A/N: Quickly. I know a bunch more of you asked to be put in here, I can tell you if you don't show up now you will show in the outtakes. An exceptionally early update, I know, but all complaints can be directed to Stalker Erik. I felt bad for the poor quality (for a given value of the word "quality") of the last chapter, and hastened to update, spurred on by the dedicated manly-squeeing of my pretend-spouse. Dear readers, this is the last chapter of the phic proper, but don't despair, for there is much more insanity to come. Alright, despair if you want to. Until the next time, I remain, your obedient writer, Random.**

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Or Is It?

The Eriks were huddled in conference, once again, whilst the Writers amused themselves in the corner by playing Spin The Bottle until Stalker Erik accused Meta-Chi of using a loaded bottle, and some small, specialized chaos ensued.

"They want to take over our lives," hissed Kay Erik. "This will not be tolerated."

"Oh, I don't know, it sounded like a fairly good plan to me," said Gerry Phantom. Most of the Writers had stolen his clothes for use as objects of reverence as he removed them, but a pair of trousers had been procured— they didn't fit very well, but on him it didn't matter.

"You mealy-mouthed twit," said Kay Erik contemptuously.

"Your insults are getting worse," guffawed Gerry Phantom.

Kay Erik glared daggers at him and turned his attention back to the matter at hand, which Leroux Erik wanted to solve by punjabbing the entire squadron of Writers. Several times during the conversation he had to be physically restrained from carrying out this suggestion all on his own, though most of the remaining Eriks were entirely in agreement with him.

"I know what to do," said Crawford Phantom quietly.

A series of disbelieving looks were turned on him and he shifted uncomfortably under them.

"You know, it really isn't fair that I don't get to be the smart phantom. I mean, what else have I got going for me?"

"Theatrical training," suggested Gerry Phantom. Crawford Phantom brightened.

"Well, yes, there is that, I suppose."

"_I_ know what to do," said Kay Erik, who had taken the mantle of smart phantom on his own shoulders and did not appreciate the position being usurped. Expectant gazes were turned on him. "They have not blocked off the entrance into the labyrinth. We can, if we are careful, escape through there."

"Why do you suppose they didn't block it off?" mused Gerry Phantom, rubbing at his chin, which was now sprouting stubble. This was perceived by the rest of the Eriks as further proof that he wasn't really one of them, as they all remained perfectly clean-shaven. Gerry Phantom, inwardly, thought it was proof that he was more manly than any of them.

Kay Erik glared at him, as he so often did. "I don't know— perhaps because they are overconfident imbeciles who think that we would not be intelligent enough to find a way out? They underestimate us, monsieurs."

"Or," suggested Gerry Phantom, "maybe they just forgot—"

Kay Erik hefted the punjab.

"One of these days, sir, you will regret making these brainless comments, and learn to keep an intelligent tongue in your head— or lose it."

"Lose my tongue? Or lose my head?"

"Whichever you wish, monsieur," said Kay Erik silkily.

Gerry Phantom scoffed and made the Loser sign on his forehead. Quite to his surprise, and also to the writer's since she wasn't aware that they had the Loser sign all those fictional years ago, Kay Erik did it back.

"What do we do?" Crawford Phantom whispered.

"We move one by one to the entrance to the labyrinth," whispered Kay Erik. "And then—"

"Yes?" said Crawford Phantom breathlessly.

"We escape."

"Ooh! Good plan. I like it. A lot. One question."

"Yes?" sighed Kay Erik.

"What about the remaining Christines?" Crawford Phantom gestured at the small amount of sleeping Christines who lay some ways away. Most of them, and there weren't that many left, were on their backs, with their hands folded on their breasts, princess style, and had even gone to the extremes of finding flowers to hold in their arms. But a few of them were snoring.

Kay Erik watched them, infinite sadness, regret, and four-dimensionalism reflected in his eyes.

"Leave them behind," he whispered.

There was a silence, and then shrugs of agreement from the Eriks. Kay Erik looked surprised at them.

"I must admit to being a bit— shocked at the cavalier attitude you portray in abandoning your true loves."

"Eh," said the Eriks, shrugging again. Kay Erik thought about this, then shrugged as well.

"Perhaps," he suggested, "we can find some way of freeing them later."

Gerry Phantom looked up from contemplating the floor. "Oh, do we have to? I was planning on finding Genn."

Kay Erik sent him another glare.

"Right," said Gerry Phantom, "I'll just be quiet then."

"And so we proceed with my original plan," said Kay Erik quietly. "We slip towards the entrance to the lair, where the fops so recently hid, and then— silently as smoke on the wind— we escape!"

"Yess!" cheered Crawford Phantom loudly, and was hurriedly and almost fatally shushed.

"Question," said Gerry Phantom, holding up a finger. "What do we do if the Writers notice that we are leaving?"

"In that case," sighed Kay Erik testily, "and I do not foresee that occurring, for as you can see they are currently engrossed in watching the one called Adison trying to kiss the one called Stalker Erik, which in my opinion is an exercise that is fully wasted, for when one is in a room with real Eriks, why should one pursue a pretend one, regardless of whether or not this so-called Stalker Erik is actually not a fictional character, which sometimes I doubt— I would advise you to run."

"Alright," said Gerry Phantom, who'd gotten lost in the enormity of that sentence, and did.

"I didn't mean _now_!" howled Kay Erik, pelting after him in pursuit.

Most of the Eriks watched them for a second and then followed.

Now, fascinating as the spectacle of Stalker Erik trying desperately to escape the clutches of his harem girls is, it is as nothing when compared to the sight of a thundering herd of Phantoms in full flight. Needless to say, and so I don't know why I'm saying it, the Writers turned towards them and stared, open-mouthed as Emmy Christine.

It took three full minutes for the situation to sink in, and by that time most of the Eriks had escaped, except for Gerry Phantom, who, inexplicably, returned on his own, Kay Erik and Crawford Phantom who followed him, Leroux Erik who had never left, and Robert Englund Erik, who sought out sparklyscorpion and took her off into a remote corner for some "punjab instruction," because I like to make my readers happy if I can.

DarkPriestessofAssimbya, thinking quickly, yanked out her notebook and scribbled a gate over the entrance to the labyrinth, too, and the remaining Eriks crashed to a stop just in front of it.

"_Dang_," said Random quietly. "_I was hoping no one would do that."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because if they hadn't, there could have been a chase sequence through the labyrinth. That might have been good for another chapter."_

"_Boss."_

"_Yes?"_

"_Why do you keep breaking into the middle of the chapter?"_

"_Boredom, I suppose. I won't do it anymore."_

The few phantoms that were left turned around to confront the Writers, who stood in a line, staring at them, arms folded.

Le Chat broke the silence first.

"You guys— you tried to escape! That's— that's just so— cheating!"

Kay Erik shrugged. "Phantom," he reminded her.

The Writers thought about this.

"Oh, right," said Le Chat. "I guess that's okay then."

"Just so long as you never do it again," added Meta-Chi.

The Eriks thought about this.

"Oh, no," they said, making obscure gestures with their hands. "Of course not."

Meta-Chi squinted at them.

"You wouldn't— lie to me, would you?"

The Eriks thought about this, too, and then did the same thing as they had last time. Meta-Chi beamed.

"Okay. I thought not."

"Well, sure," said thusser-scout, shrugging, "if you can't trust the Phantoms of the Opera, who can you trust?"

"Exactly," murmured most of the Writers, and all appeared to be forgiven.

Except for Stalker Erik, who crept up to the Eriks and said, "I thought I asked you to take me with you?"

Kay Erik stared at him balefully. "Do you think you have the forbearance to undergo the Initiation Ceremony?"

This question caught Stalker Erik completely off-guard, and he stammered for a moment before saying, "Yes—?"

"And do you think," continued Kay Erik in tones of darkest dire, "that pain and the total disfiguration of your face is merely an obstacle to be overcome in the pursuit of your goal?"

"My face?" said Stalker Erik vaguely, lifting one hand to pinch the skin under his jawline thoughtfully. "Um— my face. Right. Um. Yes. I think."

"And did you think," said Kay Erik, lowering his voice impressively, "that we actually had an Initiation Ceremony for people to join some sort of Brothership of Eriks, or something?"

Stalker Erik closed his mouth.

"No," he said, lightly. "No. No. Of course not. I suppose all this was to prove once again that the Phantom of the Opera really does have a sense of humour?"

Kay Erik ignored him.

"_Hey, boss."_

"_Yes?"_

"_Why does the stalker get all the good lines?"_

"_What?"_

"_Why does the stalker get all the good lines?"_

"_You interrupted the phic to complain about that?"_

"_Well, it does seem that you favour him a bit."_

Random exchanged glances with Masque de Nuit, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows at her. "_Well, its not a question of favouring him, really— its just that his name is Erik, and I just thought it'd be funny to kind of contrast his eternal quest to— crap, that sentence sounded really good at the beginning. Not much follow through, though. Look, I just thought the inclusion of another, real Erik would be funny. That's all."_ She shrugged. _"No favouring."_

Masque de Nuit smiled to himself and began to play a different tune.

"And now, O Writers," said Crawford Phantom, venturing forth once more, "what must we do in order to make you relax your terms? We would not wish to have our lives controlled, you see, as you seem to want to do. Can't some sort of compromise be reached?"

The Writers exchanged glances, and went into a huddle.

Kay Erik groaned.

"I think this is a positive step," said Gerry Phantom brightly.

"Nothing good comes out of a huddle," said Kay Erik, shaking his head. "Nothing, nothing good."

Leroux Erik was off in a corner, braiding himself a new punjab, in case you're wondering why he hasn't shown up in a while. And, for that matter, Patrick Raoul was playing Spin the Bottle with himself, and losing, but he now came over for a final confrontation with the Eriks.

"Hi," he said, amiably.

The Eriks sneered at him.

"Did you try to leave the Christines behind?" Patrick Raoul smiled. "I suppose you finally realized that I was the better man, in this case—"

Kay Erik stood up straight. "You, sir, are the dog turd permanently stuck in the tread of the great Running Shoe of Life."

Patrick Raoul merely blinked, and Random reflected to herself that there had been better opportunities to put a line like that in, elsewhere.

"Got it," said Mandy the O, as the huddle broke up. The Eriks turned to face their captors— shoulders back, arms behind their backs, chins up, and Gerry Phantom chewing on the remains of a muffin he'd found on the floor.

The Writers took a deep breath.

"We want," said Songwind quietly.

The Eriks held their breaths.

"— Leroux Erik to sing for us."

There was a dumbstruck pause.

"Is that all?" asked Kay Erik. "I can scarcely believe it!"

"Well, we would much appreciate it if you would occasionally drop by and help us with our phics. I mean, we don't want to rule your lives—" Songwind grinned. "Unusual for a group of phan-girls, I know."

"And rather a sappy realization to have, in a Random Battlecry phic," said Stalker Erik, frowning upwards.

"_Is this what they call fourth-wall humour?_

"_Shut up, Erik."_

"Well, then," said Crawford Phantom, clearing his throat. "I suppose we'll just have to get Leroux Erik to sing for you, then. I say— Leroux Erik!"

"Don't know why you didn't ask me," mumbled Gerry Phantom to himself. "I could have done it. I stripped for you all, for Pete's sake—"

"Leroux Erik! Could we borrow you for a minute?"

Leroux Erik looked up from his punjab and stared at them for a moment. In his eyes was reflected the madness of millennia, the anger of rejection, the heartbreak of his solitary life, the strange mix of joy and irritation that had been there since Kay Erik first invaded his lair, and also the group of people staring at him, because when you have a reflective surface, it tends to reflect whatever is in front of it. That's physics. Or— something.

He cast a glance at the remaining Christines who lay a few feet away.

He inhaled a deep breath.

He stood, and the mask covering his face slipped just the tiniest bit as he began to sing.

And this is the point where Random's obsession with the Phantom of the Opera really kicked in, because she constructed a lovingly-written portrait of the original Phantom, the real poor, unhappy Erik—

His voice was a strange and yet familiar blend of

—which unfortunately she deleted because it was too sappy to stick in the middle of a humour phic. Instead, she will replace it with five seconds of Gerry Butler—

"Hi! I'm Gerry But—"

— and a dissertation on the difference in the Erik's voices. She was going to have Stalker Erik give it, but since the complaint about his getting all the good lines came, she decided to do a random insertion instead, and so for a brief moment, Streight, from her novel "Comeback Jack" was there in the lair, shimmering like a hologram.

"The voices of the Eriks—" said Streight, and cleared his throat. "Gerry Phantom's voice is chocolate— Crawford Phantom's voice is starlight— Kay Erik sings as seductively as the devil— and it is Leroux Erik, the true Erik, who sings like an angel. His voice alone truly inspires.

Stalker Erik? He's pretty good too."

The hologram blipped out and Leroux Erik's voice went on, penetrating the soul of everyone in the lair, except for those who were asleep. The Leroux phangirls sobbed uncontrollably, the other Eriks were shamefaced, Patrick Raoul began to throw up in the lake— all was a lovely chaos, surmounted by the Voice—

All too soon, it was over, and everyone was panting for breath, looking for their heartbeats, which had inexplicably deserted them.

Leroux Erik held them in his palm.

With his strange golden eyes, he looked down at the invisible _thump-thump-thumps_, pulsing in his hand, and felt the power of his own, taking control. For a few moments, the lives of everyone in the room depended on his.

Then, with a quick flick of his long fingers, he let them fly back to their owners, and took a short, but theatrical, bow.

Many other things happened, things which might make you laugh, and might make you cry, and might make Stalker Erik go all big-eyed and threaten me with a punjab—

But, if I may be allowed to ruthlessly steal a line from one of the greatest fantasy books ever written, those are other stories and shall be told other times.

Trust me, it was all, ultimately, random.

There was silence now in the Administrative Office where Random Battlecry sat chained to Masque's desk— silence except for the quiet crying that was being done by the writer.

"_I hate endings_," she sniffed. _"They make me so miserable. I mean, I like them because I get good reviews, and I don't have to worry about updating any more— but I hate them too._"

The minions and the PR agent stood against the wall, unsure of how to comfort her.

Random clutched the pen in her left hand and wiped her eyes with her right. Masque de Nuit put a hand on her arm.

"_Let it go_," he said quietly. "_Just— let it go."_

Random inhaled deeply, and let out a last, shuddering sob. With a trembling hand, she wrote the final word in red ink.

**FIN**

And then, because she couldn't help herself, and because tradition is a stronger force than originality, she scrawled—

**OR IS IT?**


	15. Extras 1: Alternate Ending and Credits

**Back to the review replies. I know you missed them. (rolls eyes)**

**Mrs. Tom Riddle: **Thank you!

**DarkPriestessofAssimbya**: Stalker Erik and Masque de Nuit, as well as Musique et Amour, are all one and the same. Ahem. It appears he is a lover of pseudonyms as well as trap-doors... The difference is, all the dialogue that takes place in italics is happening in "reality," or what passes for reality in my eyes, in the Administrative Office where I write from. The Admin Office is populated by my minions, my PR agent Adison, and Stalker Erik/MdN/MeA, as my pretend-husband and the one who spurs me on with manly-squees. So he's up there, and his fictional alter ego is down in the lair. However, everything that happens in the Admin office is actually fictional as well.(grins as she reads what she just wrote) I know its terribly confusing, I'm sorry, but that's the way my mind works. And of course you can use my story.

**joanieponytail**: Sorry, had to give Gerry something to cover... have to keep this phic rating down, y'know...

**Ludivine**: Okay, well— you enjoy that— salmon patty. (mouths the words "salmon patty" to herself and then mimes throwing up) Who, me?

**Inayasha-chibi**: I want a Red Death plushie!

**The Singing Fox Demon**: And the extras begin... now. (takes a bow)

**lazy.kender**: "Or is it?" is a running gag in my stories. Its shown up in at least three that I can think of. I don't like to let go of a good thing—

**THELadyRedDeath**: Your comment about chaos— EXACTLY!

**Musique et Amour**: (gives you a muffin for the nice long review) Almost exactly what I was looking for. You think you're sad with the forehead-kisses— sir, I regret to inform you that your manly squees form the highlight of my week. Please don't take them away from me. I will sing for you if you do. You won't like it.

**Baffled Seraph**: Thank you for the applause. I love applause.

**LuvinLivnReadn**: Counting how many people quoted the dog-turd line— One.

**Melissa Brandybuck**: No, nooo, not the puppy eyes—

**EriksAngel1870**: (counting) Two.

**letthedreamdescend**: So the ending wasn't too melodramatic then? Leroux Erik does that to me, makes me go all misty-eyed and lip-quiver-ish. And then I write it that way. (conks self on head) Well, I suppose there are just some characters whomyou _just_._... must... hug..._

**Moonlightrosegoddess**: Extras work?

**Mithril2014**: Outtakes... outtakes outtakes! Soon! I promise!

**Renee17:** Your dedication is truly— well I was going to say inspiring but what I mean, I think, is "ego-pleasing". Thank you.

**Willow Rose**: Torture? Dunno. How's sandwiches sound to you? (loves the fact that you're going to puzzle over this till the outtakes are up)

**La Foamy**: (still counting) Three. I am officially glad I put that line in.

**Songwind**: You'll be pleased to know that the Persian makes a slight cameo in the outtakes.

**Misty Breyer:** Terms of Endearment— I actually did start writing it again, after getting over my depression over losing the next two chapters— grr, I hate computers. But it will be updated sometime soon, I promise. Oh, and (still counting) four. (smiles)

**Marianne Brandon**: Outtakes coming soon!

**MetaChi**: (smacks herself on head) I just realized that I forgot to go back and take out the hyphen in your name. You probably thought I was doing it to get on your nerves, didn't you? (still counting) Five. Oh, and the Leroux Erik description? All I actually wrote was on there. I started to go all misty-eyed and swan-necked and other things associated with narcissi and princesses in floofy dresses, and then I just made myself STOP before I embarrassed myself. Sorry. If I had actually written it, I'd send it to you. If I ever do write one, I'll send it to you. If you want some serious Leroux-writing, you could check out "Folie A Deux." I wrote about half of it, along with JJC Beowulf. Its posted under her name.

**Librarian of the Deep**: Thank you for forgiving me. And does the fact that there'll be about twenty chapters with the extras help a bit?

**Maggie**: Hey, you're a lurker? You should join the party! I lurked for a long time, but I was glad when I finally started posting on PFN. I got minions out of the deal. Minions are awesome.

**gavvie**: Okay, so you like the word guffawed. Good—

**longblacksatinlace**: Another outtake-rooter. Soon. I promise! I swear on my life!

**Chat-tastic**: Glad you liked your cameo. :)

**Adison**: ADISON! Best PR agent ever! Have I given you a **CHAPTER DEDICATION **already? Doesn't matter, you get one now, for writing that snarf-inducing review. (hugs) Very much loved it. Very much comforted by it. Thank you. Hey, this is weird. Spell-check recognizes the word "snarf." Who would have guessed?

**ElfLover:** (catches muffins) Thank you.

**Tango1**: So the dissertation didn't— throw you off at all? Really, I wanted to deliver it, then I was going to have Stalker Erik deliver it, then I decided in the spirit of true randomosity I ought to have one of my own characters deliver it— if any of you are the least bit curious as to who and what Streight is, glance down at the bottom of this update. There's a slight explanation.

**Phantom's Fallen Angel:** Don't worry— there is an outtake called "Cuddles." You'll probably like it—

**Alternate Ending**

"Got it," said Mandy the O, as the huddle broke up. The Eriks turned to face their captors— shoulders back, arms behind their backs, chins up, and Gerry Phantom chewing on the remains of a muffin he'd found on the floor.

The Writers took a deep breath.

"We want," said Songwind quietly.

The Eriks held their breaths.

"— Leroux Erik to sing for us."

There was a dumbstruck pause.

"Is that all?" said Kay Erik, his eyes wide behind his mask. " All those demands you made previously— become one simple requirement?"

"Well, it may not be so simple," said MetaChi. "I mean, after all, Leroux Erik isn't the easiest person to get around— its extremely likely that we may have to torture him in order to get him to sing. Although— see, torture is alright if the outcome is good—"

The Writers murmured agreement.

"And besides," said Le Chat, with a disarming smile, "now we know exactly how it feels to have our demands not met. I don't know about the rest of you, but I feel almost— Erik-ish."

"I always feel Erik-ish," said Stalker Erik self-importantly, but was uncompromisingly ignored. He folded his arms and muttered something about a disaster beyond their imagination, but even this did not help.

"And so," said Adison, "if you would be so kind as to persuade, convince, win over, sway, or otherwise just make Leroux Erik do what we want?"

The three Eriks looked at each other.

"I suppose," said Crawford Phantom with a shrug.

"We'll have to call in a few favors," murmured Gerry Phantom.

"What do you mean, favors? He doesn't owe us any favors!"

"Well— alright, suppose we take the Christines hostage."

"I don't know why there are any Christines left," said Kay Erik sourly. "Mine died early on, it seems, as she never even made an appearance."

Crawford Phantom and Gerry Phantom stared at him.

"Your Christine never came," said Gerry Phantom, with a disturbing lack of tact.

"What?"

"She never even came, see. She was quite content in her life, it seems. And anyway, she'd had you. That's all she wanted."

"No she didn't!" said Kay Erik explosively. "I was dying!"

Gerry Phantom and Crawford Phantom made dismissive "Yeah, whatever" gestures.

"I was! And anyway, her fop came down here as though he expected to find her here!"

"Well," said Crawford Phantom thoughtfully, "it has been mentioned before that fops are not the brightest of God's creatures."

"Bugger you all!" snarled Kay Erik. "I know she came down for me! She loved me! And she just died early on! That's all!"

Gerry Phantom shrugged. Crawford Phantom made to pat Kay Erik on the shoulder, but had his hand knocked ruthlessly aside.

"Returning to the matter at hand," said Gerry Phantom pleasantly, "how are we to get Leroux Erik to sing?"

They turned to face the rest of the lair, thoughtful looks upon their faces, and found that there was a pile of newly-punjabbed bodies directly in front of them, besides which Leroux Erik stood, the punjab held gently in his hand, his breath under iron control.

"You might try asking me," said Leroux Erik.

And so, within the space of a few more minutes, Leroux Erik had the lair back to himself again, having killed everyone else. He couldn't make himself worry about this too much— after all, he was the Phantom of the Opera— they had known what they were getting into.

Alone among the others, he retained Weak-Willed Christine, who having recovered from her near drowning all those chapters ago, consented to stay with him and do her best to make him happy. He had taken a rather perverse liking to her, in his own peculiar way, and so for years afterwards the lair resounded with their distinctive conversation.

"I don't suppose you— no, I mean, its kind of silly— but could you— never mind."

"What is it, my angel?"

"Well, seeing as you're the one who killed all these people, it just doesn't make sense to me that I should be the one who digs all the graves. But then— that's just me. At least—"

"Dig, my angel. Dig for meeee!"

"Oh, alright."

What more need be said?

Just this.

Muffin, anyone?

**CREDITS**

**The Phantoms**: Kay, Leroux, Gerry, Crawford, Panaro, Little, Englund, Chaney, Banderas, and Every Other Version Ever Invented or Portrayed

**The Christines**: Real, Emmy, Brightman, Weak-Willed, Folie A Deux, and Every Other Version Ever Invented or Portrayed

**The Fops**: Patrick, Kay, Leroux, and Every Other Version Ever Invented or Portrayed

**The Writers**: **Sarah Crawford, Willow Rose, Mandy the O, EmailyGirl, Melissa Brandybuck, The Maiden Amorisa **(AKA mistressphantomshadow) **Mademoiselle Phantom, Phantress, EriksAngel1870, bundles 'o joy, ElfLover, Stalker Erik **(AKA Musique et Amour) **flamingices, VegaOfTheLyre **(AKA RoxieBarberHer), **ChristineX, obsessionpersonified, pOtOgurl417, eyesofatragedy, IChooseTheScorpion, Librarian of the Deep **(AKA Oboe Phreak), **Killthefop, sparklyscorpion **(AKA Honeybee),** Slina, longblacksatinlace, THELadyRedDeath, Sydney the Poet, Padfootz-luvr, SimplyElymas, Johanna Gen, xxXGoddessOofOdeadOloveOxx, Sonwind, Phantomy-cookies, thusser-scout, DarkPriestessofAssimbya, Meta-Chi, A-Lonely-Dreamer-56, Phantom's Fallen Angel, ButterflyOFLothlorien, Mademoiseelle Daae, Le Chat, lazy.kender**

The Minions: **YoukoElfMaiden**

**Hoshi**

**Misty Breyer**

**phantomzgerl**

**darksidetwin2**

**Renee17 **(AKA Jackie)

The PR Agent: **Adison**

The Pretend-Husband:** Masque de Nuit **(AKA Stalker Erik)

The Self-Inserting Writer: **Random L. Battlecry**, AKA Felicity Dippery, AKA Felicity Bredon Curare, AKA Felicity Danielle, AKA Mrs. de Nuit #14, AKA The Confusing Little Person With The Peculiar Eyes

POTO in 15 Minutes by cleolinda at Live Journal

Genn appears courtesy of Mandy the O, from her phic _An Eternity of This_

Weak-Willed Christine appears courtesy of herself

Muffins appear courtesy of Mrs. Jacqueline Dippery

Streight appears much to everyone's bemusement. He is Random's favourite-ever original fictional character, from her novel, "Comeback Jack," excerpts of which can be found on her professional page. The professional page can be found on her author's bio page. The author's bio page can be found by clicking on her name at the top of this page. This page can be found by— look, just how stupid_ are_ you?


	16. Extras 2: Outtakes Chap 1 thru 8

**A/N: The first outtakes chapter! Yay! (crickets) Or... whatever. Hope you guys enjoy them, but, you know, if you don't... then oh well. :)**

**A Deformity Beyond Their Imagination (Chapter One)**

"The Phantom of the Opera has no nose?" said Crawford Phantom, disbelievingly. "Excuse me, but how can you sing attractively if you don't have a nose? It seems quite impossible."

Gerry Phantom sniggered as a thought struck him. "The Phantom of the Opera has no nose. That's funny—"

"I mean," said Crawford Phantom, going on, "how does he smell?"

"Awful," said Gerry Phantom immediately, and gave a wild cackle. This prompted Kay Erik to whip off his mask, and the cackle turned into hysterical screaming, followed by a thud as Gerry Phantom's fainting form hit the floor.

**Phantom Phashion Show:(Chapter 2)**

**AKA The Trousers, The Ruffles, The Buttons, The Fedora**

"Nice shirt," said Kay Erik.

"Thank you," said Gerry Phantom, looking down at himself. "I had it specially made by this tailor in Panama."

"I was being extremely sarcastic. Sarcasm was literally dripping from my voice. It was noticeable for a five-mile radius to anyone with a pulse."

"Really? I didn't catch it."

"Why are there ruffles on your shirt?"

"Decoration."

"And why is it open to the navel? Did your Panamaian tailor run out of buttons?"

"No," said Gerry Phantom defensively, "he said it would be sexy this way."

"And what about those trousers? Could they possibly get any tighter?"

"I don't know," said Gerry Phantom. "Would you like me try and find out?"

There was, at this interesting juncture, a sudden shriek from Crawford Phantom, and it was quickly discovered that Stalker Erik had stolen his fedora.

"Its mine!" howled Crawford Phantom, utterly undone by the lack of hat on his head.

"Its mine now," said Stalker Erik dismissively, and much to the sorrow of everyone who was expecting to see the stalker get amusingly punjabbed and the fedora taken back, he was right. The other phantoms didn't much care, and Crawford Phantom was too genteel to do anything at the moment.

And so Stalker Erik got himself a new fedora.

Well, not really new—

And, eventually, he discovered the phantomy sweat stains around the inside rim and abandoned the thing in disgust.It was rescued by le chat and later sold on E-bay for twenty dollars.

**The real reason behind Emmy Christine's Look (Chapter 2)**

"Two words," said Gerry Phantom conspiratorially. "Lobotomy patient."

**Two Muffins** (Chapter 3)

"It fit!" yelled Gerry Phantom, in a fit of glee, and did a silly little dance for no reason other than that I want him to do a silly little dance, and since I'm writing this POC I get to say what happens, and I say that Gerry Phantom did a silly little dance.

"I'll bet you could fit two," said Kay Erik, in a voice like a devil.

Gerry Phantom ceased his silly little dance and looked thoughtful. "Do you think I could?"

"I know it," purred Kay Erik.

"I'll try it," said Gerry Phantom, took another muffin from the plate, and inched it towards Emmy Christine's mouth. She made indistinct noises and widened her eyes and tried to shake her head, but all this was ignored in the spirit of experimentation.

"It's not fitting!"

"Make it fit, man!" said Kay Erik. "Cram that muffin!"

"Cram! Cram!" said Leroux Erik, caught up in the moment.

Gerry Phantom crammed.

Unfortunately the muffin was really too much for Emmy Christine to take, although her mouth did have truly stellar capacity, and she choked to death on the muffin, leaving the Eriks staring down at her.

"Oops," said Gerry Phantom.

"One muffin too many," said Kay Erik, with what seemed to be a sigh of regret.

**The Chaos Machine** (Chapter 3)

Chaos ensued.

No it didn't.

Nothing ensued.

In the confusion that followed the lack of any chaos ensuing, the Eriks glanced around the lair as though they missed it, and Random strode onto the set with a bullhorn, yelling insults behind her at the local high school football team, who were catcalling her choice of pants.

"Stick a muffin in it!"

She walked up to Kay Erik. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Those," said Kay Erik, looking down, "are extremely short shorts."

"Hand-me-downs," said Random dismissively. "I'm going swimming. Is there some sort of rule that says I can't wear short shorts when I'm going swimming?"

"Are you going swimming— near here?" asked Gerry Phantom hopefully.

"Is there a problem?"

"It's the chaos machine," said an elderly technician who came trundling up to them in a wheelchair. Electricity sparked in his hair. "Its broken down again."

"Again? Man, I hate it when that happens! I mean, they give me a five-year warrantee, and it breaks down once a week. This means I have to call the repair guys again— and that fat one always hits on me— I'm young enough to be his daughter, for Pete's sake— or he's old enough to be my father— whichever comes first— anyone got a cell phone?"

Stalker Erik handed her his, studiously avoiding looking at her shorts. "Do you get a signal down there— here, I mean?"

"Don't know. Guess I'll find out, won't I?" She took it from him and walked off, out of the lair, up the stairs. They heard her as she left the building, possibly never to return—

"Can you hear me now? Good."

**ElfLover With A Lavender Silk Punjab (Chapter 4)**

"I made it myself," said ElfLover proudly.

Kay Erik looked at her warily. "Well, you'd have to, wouldn't you?"

"Its silk!" said ElfLover enthusiastically.

"Its lavender," pointed out Kay Erik, unexpectedly kind.

"I know. Spring colors, you see. Its going to be all the rage in a few months—"

"Ah, I was going to say, this being the middle of winter—"

**The Fop Brigade** (Chapter 4)

"Send in the Raouls!"

The cry echoed around the Administrative Office, and then the Raouls were irrevocably sent in. For some reason Random decided to do things in an orderly manner and so, unusually, they marched in, in formation, in uniform, and singing.

"The fops go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah, the fops go marching one by one, hurrah! Hurrah! The fops go marching one by one, the little one stops to have some fun, and they all go marching down, underground, to get out, of the world, boom boom boom boom, boom boom boom—"

**Mathematics** (Chapter 4)

"To continue— if she had meant that there were two children, with three eyes each, there would only be a total of six eyes, unless she were referring to the entire family, which would be six for the children, and four for you and Emmy Christine— that is, two for each of you, that is, two for you, and two for her. However, were you to take it that these children truly were frighteningly misshapen, you could divide the total number of eyes up between them in any way you liked— say, for instance, Gerry Junior had one eye, and Emmy Junior, although I suppose it wouldn't be Junior for a girl, I suppose it would be Emmette, or something like that, or Emmetta, or Emmina, or Emily— no, that makes no sense— I wonder— look, it doesn't matter. Don't try to sidetrack me. Suppose the boy baby had one eye and the girl baby had five. This would still come to a total of six eyes, but also allow for the deformities that they may have. Now, if she had meant that there were three children, this would open up a whole new world of numerical possibilities. Take this one, for example—" Crawford Phantom took one of the babies from Emmy Christine, under the guise of being helpful. Unfortunately the removal of one of the triplets caused the delicate balance to be lost, and the other two fell from Emmy Christine's arms and went for a little impromptu swim in the lake. Crawford Phantom looked down at them. "Oops," he said.

**Yeah, Well, Samson Was A Fop, Too** (Chapter Six)

"Oh no!" shrieked sparklyscorpion. "You cut off their ponytails?"

"Why yes, I did," said Stalker Erik. "Otherwise— what would these long, unwashed tufts of hair be that I hold in my hand?" He returned them to his pocket.

"But their ponytails are the source of their magic! Without the ponytails, they're nothing!"

This, in fact, proved to be entirely correct. The now ponytail-denuded fops were moaning and crying and trembling. They did this a lot, actually, but the real difference was that the Christines were staring at them with nothing but disgust.

Real Christine stepped forward. "You have no power over me!" she said to Leroux Raoul, who gaped at her and dribbled snot down his face. "Ew."

In the Administrative Office, Random was uncompromisingly jumped for quoting "Labyrinth" for the second time in one phic. In short order she was on the floor and being sat on by her minions and pretend-husband. She folded her arms and rested her chin on them.

"Its at times like these when I really wish I'd installed carpet in here."

"Quit ripping off Labyrinth," said Adison deliberately. "Its bad enough when you do it to Hitch Hiker's."

"You know what's funny? Your real alter egos all seem to like that I put Labyrinth in."

"That's not funny! That's sacrilege!"

"Uh-huh," said Random. "Ow!" She tried to look over her shoulder. "Which one of you is sitting on my back? Erik. I should have known. Stop that, please."

Masque de Nuit pulled her hair.

Random groped for her notebook, which had fallen to the floor along with her when she got dogpiled. Holding the pen threateningly over the paper, she said, "You do that again and it'll be the morning after for you and a certain someone."

There was an anticipatory squeal of delight from the certain someone, far beneath them. Masque let go of Random's hair.

"You wouldn't."

"I would, though."

"You like me too much."

"I like my hair better."

With a conciliatory grunt, Masque got up from his sitting position, an action echoed by the minions. Random pushed herself up off the floor and resumed her seat at the desk, rubbing her wrist around the chain.

"No more quoting Labyrinth," said Adison. "I mean it."

"I can't help it! It fit!"

"And why did you cut off their ponytails anyway? It was stupid."

"Yes, well, the stupidity went totally unnoticed, so what does that tell you?"

"Look, just don't do it."

"Fine, whatever."

"Why does the lack of ponytails mean that they lost their magic?" inquired YoukoElfMaiden.

"Because it does," said Random grumpily. "Can I get back to writing the phic now?"

There was silence. She took that as a yes.

**The Healing Power of Laughter** (Chapter 6)

Meanwhile, this is what was going on with Random's readers.

One of them sat up and grabbed at her head and said, "Oh my gosh! My headache— its completely gone! You cured it! Thank you Random!"

Another one said, "Well— its still there— but its more bearable now—"

Another one said, "I suffer from deep depression. You keep me from suicide. Thank you."

Another one said, "If you don't update tonight, I'm going to commit suicide."

Another one said, "Random, you make me smile! You make my day! I live for this phic! I am a very sad and lonely person!"

And yet another one laughed so hard she had a heart attack and keeled over.

Bugger the power of fiction; behold the power of laughter.

**Saving the Raouls** (Chapter 6)

Sparklyscorpion rushed after the fops as they ran for the barricade, bearing the muffins. She scooted in just behind them, and found herself surrounded by suspicious fops on all sides.

"It's alright," she panted. "I've come to help you."

"Help us what?" demanded a fop. She couldn't be sure which one. They all looked exactly alike.

"Help you— um—" She hadn't thought that far ahead. "Escape, I guess."

"Why would a Phantom phan-girl try to help the fops escape?" asked a fop— for the sake of avoiding confusion, we will call him Fop 1.

"I don't know," said one which we will randomly decide to call Fop 2, along with Fops 3 through 48, because fops are fond of giving non-information if they can. Fop 56, however, raised his hand.

"Is it a trap?" he asked, timidly.

The other fops looked at him. Then they looked at sparklyscorpion.

"One young woman against five hundred Raouls," murmured Fop 35. There was a pause. "It_ is _a trap!"

The other fops quickly took up the cry.

"It is a trap! It is a trap!"

Sparklyscorpion tried to calm them down, but didn't do it very well. "Its not a trap!" she said. "I want to help you escape from the Eriks, because I don't think you deserve to die—"

"She thinks we deserve to die!" shouted Fop 23. There was instant panic. Sparklyscorpion sighed testily.

"Honestly, all it takes is one fop with bad hearing—"

"She thinks we have sad herrings!"

"Okay, several fops with bad hearing, or their hair over their ears, or something—"

"She thinks we have hairy ears!"

This was the point where, had any of the Eriks been present, they would have calmly said, "This, my dear, is why fops are not known for intelligence," and then set about killing them off. Sparklyscorpion pushed a Raoul down and stood on his back, in the absence of a box.

"Gentlemen!" she said loudly. "Gentlemen! I have come to help you! I want to get you out of here safely, and not be killed by the Eriks! If you want my help, you're going to have to listen to me and not keep talking over me like I don't exist!" She yelled the last bit, but still got ignored. Most of the fops were still repeating the phrase "hairy ears" though in some cases the words had been corrupted into "Harry Shears" and "harlem tears" and, inexplicably, "Erik is kind of sexy, isn't he?" Sparklyscorpion decided to give up. She stepped off the Raoul who lay on his stomach on the stone floor, and helped him up.

"Did you want something?" asked the Raoul, dazed.

"I was trying to help you."

"Oh yes? How?"

"Well— I thought maybe I could kind of transport you all to a different fandom. Send you somewhere you'll be appreciated. Like— well, I can't think of one at the moment, but I'm sure there must be one somewhere."

"Alright," said the fop, still dazed. "What do we have to do?"

"Stay right here. I'll go see if I can enlist some of the other Writers to help." Sparklyscorpion ran off back to the main part of the lair, but immediately on setting foot into the large room, an arm caught her around the waist and a hand covered her mouth.

"Well, well," said the voice of Englund Erik, or Erik Destler, behind her. "I don't suppose you would happen to know where the fops are— would you?"

"I would," said sparklyscorpion, her heart beating wildly, "but I wouldn't tell you."

"Wouldn't you?" he asked, tracing his fingers down her arm.

"Not unless you asked."

Erik Destler chuckled a bit. "Would you show me, my dear?"

"Absolutely," said sparklyscorpion rapidly, turned around, and marched with him down the corridor.

He was an Erik, anyway. What are five hundred fops when compared to an Erik?

**Lack of Muffins** (Chapter Six)

_If Pink Haze Phantom hadn't shown up_

"They took the muffins!" shouted Gerry Phantom. "Those fops took our muffins! We can't let them get away with this felonious action! We must do something about it! We must— attack! And get the muffins back! Are you with me, men? Ready! Chaaaaarge!"

Kay Erik and Crawford Phantom watched as he ran towards the barricade.

"Man wants his muffins," observed Crawford Phantom.

"So I see," said Kay Erik.

"Myself I can do without them."

"Agreed."

They glanced over to the corner where Leroux Erik was rolling on the ground, tearing at what little hair he had left, moaning. Real Christine stood over him, looking worried.

"Has she turned him down again?"

"No— I expect the lack of muffins has gotten to him too."

"Yes, I suppose that would make more sense than what I said."

"Naturally."

"Not that the muffin situation means anything to me."

"No, no, of course not."

"Heart of stone, this," said Crawford Phantom, thumping his chest.

"I don't even have one," said Kay Erik. "That I'm aware of. And if I did— it certainly wouldn't be affected by the muffins."

"No, no. Not at all. No muffin plights for me."

"No," Kay Erik agreed.

They faced forward, and a few very small, muffin-induced tears seeped out of the corners of their eyes.

**The Alternate Words to MotN** (Chapter 7)

"Gather round," said Gerry Phantom, needlessly, because his phans already had gathered round, and were waiting with expectant and dazed expressions for him to sing to them. "Now— ahem—" He coughed, a little self-conscious. "Music of the Night— music by Andrew Lloyd Webber— words by Gerry Phantom. Ahem. Ahem, ahem. I'm going to sing it now. Ahem. The next thing I do will be singing. Ahem." He coughed slightly, and then coughed some more. "Ahem! Frog in my throat, I do apologize. Ahem! Alright, I'm ready now. Deep breath— that's right—" The deep breath caused him to cough some more. "Ahem! I really am sorry, chickens, its just— ahem! Cough cough! Cough! Ahem! Alright. I'm fine now. I'm going to sing. Ahem." He paused, and looked at them. "Ready?"

They indicated that yes, they were.

"Alright." He took another deep breath. "Ahem! Cough-_cough_! _Cagrk! _Alright. I am now fully recovered, and ready to sing. If you're ready, that is. Are you? Very well. Ahem. I am about to sing. Cough! Here I go. _Cough hack_! Ahem." He inhaled a little and then began to sing in a thin and scratchy falsetto that took his phans by complete surprise. "I am sexy— notice how I pout, now— I will kiss you— from three feet away— "

He sang on, and the phans stared at him.

"This," said Melissa Brandybuck quietly, "is very, very wrong."

"Yeah," agreed Mademoiselle Phantom. "So, is it bad that I still want to snog him within an inch of his life?"

"If that is bad," said Killthefop, "then we are all sinners."

And the beat went on.

**Stalker's Harem **(Chapter 7)

"My, you do go to bed early, don't you?" said Adison.

"Well," said Stalker Erik, modestly, "I like to avoid the rush."

**If Gerry Phantom Won The Singing Duel** (Chapter 7)

It was difficult to tell, the circumstances being what they were, but when Crawford Phantom's voice cracked in the middle of the note, there was a kind of shocked silence.

Except for Gerry Phantom.

He leapt about the room, cackling wildly, pointing at Crawford Phantom. "You messed up! You hit a faulty note! You didn't sing perfectly! Therefore I am the best singer out of the two of us! Ha ha! I rule! You drool! Ha yeah! I am so good! I am the best! I won the contest! That rhymed! Boo yeah!"

He carried on in this vein, ably assisted by his phans, until Crawford Phantom got fed up with it all and punjabbed him.

**Prophetic Nightmare of DOOM!** (Chapter 7)

A few of the Christines whimpered in their sleep. A few of the Writers sat and discussed this.

"They're having nightmares," said Scarlett Red Rose knowledgeably. "Everyone knows that Christines have prophetic nightmares almost continuously."

"I just had a nightmare," said Stalker Erik, shivering and glaring suspiciously at The Maiden Amorisa. "It was terrible, and I hope to God it wasn't prophetic."

"Prophetic nightmares? Like what?" asked A-Lonely-Dreamer-56.

"Oh, you know, like their kid's going to die, or Erik is dead, or Raoul is going to die, or they're going to die—"

"Are all prophetic nightmares about death?"

"Pretty much." Scarlett Red Rose shrugged.

"So its like— the prophetic nightmare of Doom?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wait—" put in DarkPriestessofAssimbya, "if it's a prophetic nightmare to begin with, isn't the 'of DOOM' part kind of redundant?"

They thought about this for a while.

"Who cares?" said thusser-scout. " I like to say 'of DOOM.'"

"Yeah, me too," added, Sydney the Poet. "Punjab— of DOOM."

"Fop— of DOOM."

"Stalker— of DOOM."

"I'll thank you to leave me out of this ridiculous conversation," complained Stalker Erik. He was irritated that no one had asked him about his nightmare. Standing, he moved off away from the writers and leaned against a wall, muttering to himself.

"Fop-killer— of DOOM. Musique et Amour— of DOOM. Harem master— of DOOM." With no one around, the most he succeeded in was making himself smile, but since that's what he was going for in the first place, he was happy with the result.

**The Lesser Reviews (Chapter 8)**

_Apologies in advance to Stalker Erik. Just remember it could have been worse._

Comfortably ensconced in her air-conditioned Administrative Office, and enjoying an ice-cold hot chocolate, Random had just put her feet up when Hoshi bounded into the room and dumped an armful of papers onto the desk.

"Boss, here's the reviews. Boss? Boss, why do you have your feet in Masque's lap?"

"Couldn't find another chair, and he wouldn't get out of his," muttered Random dreamily, half-asleep. Masque de Nuit was asleep, head lolling back on his chair, otherwise he never would have tolerated her dark red kicker boots on his knees.

"Ah. Huh. Reviews, boss."

Random languidly reached out a hand for the reviews. Her arms were too short to reach the desk from where she sat, but that was what she had minions for. Hoshi alertly put the pages into her grasp.

And Random read them.

She sat up suddenly with a gasp, accidentally kicking Masque on the kneecap and causing him to awake with a grunt of pain.

"What is it, you set your tongue on fire again?"

"No, no, something far more drastic." Random stared with disbelieving eyes at the printed pages. "Just got the results back from the last chapter—"

"And?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with horror. "The review quality is going down," she whispered.

Masque thought about this, then shrugged. "So?"

"So?_ So_? What kind of attitude is that to have about your pretend-wife's reviewers?"

He shrugged again. "I have a lot of pretend-wives. I can't afford to worry about the quality of all their reviews."

Random stood and pointed a shaking finger at the door. "Out."

"What?"

"Out now. Go see one of your precious other wives. Go. Now, Erik."

Masque shrugged slightly, once more, and ambled out. Random kicked the door shut behind him, turned the key in the lock, and cackled for a split second.

"Wonder how long it'll take him to figure out that's the closet?"

Not very long, it turned out. Almost immediately, there was a banging on the other side of the door. "Hey!"

"Look at this, Hoshi."

"That's right," said Hoshi. "Why ask a pretend-husband to do a minion's job? Look at what, boss?"

"Someone actually wrote — _still funny._" Random slowly collapsed back onto her seat. "Good heavens, its worse than I thought! _Still funny_? What kind of thing is that to say? This was a review on chapter four!"

"So?"

"So? So, chapter _four_! And they think I'm going downhill already! _Still funny, _as though they expected it to be something else—_ still funny _is such a, a consolation-prize thing to say! Its what loyal readers say to the writers who aren't really any good anymore but the readers feel they have to encourage the poor things!"

"Boss, its just a review—"

_Bang, bang_! "_Hey_, I said. Is anyone listening to me?"

"I just can't believe this is happening to me," moaned Random, slumping over the desk. "I'm still young, I didn't think my career would be over this soon—"

"Well, you've got your health—"

_Bang! _"Let me out _now_!"

"Why doesn't someone just put me out of my misery?"

"I would be glad to," said the icy voice of Masque de Nuit from behind the door, "if you would let me out of the closet."

"Hey, hey boss," said Hoshi, who had taken the crumpled piece of paper from Random's twitching hand and read it for herself. "Hey, look at the next one, look at the next one."

"No."

"Come on."

"I don't want to."

With some difficulty, Hoshi managed to persuade her to look at the next review, which read, in part "OMG SO BLEEDIN HILARIOUS THIS IS THE AWESOMEST THING I EVER READ OMG YOU ARE SOOO GREAT I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!"

Random stared at it for a moment, and then a smile broke over her features. She laid the paper down carefully, straightened her shoulders, and stood up.

_Bang! Bang!_

She unlocked the door, which swung open to reveal a disheveled and irritated Masque de Nuit.

"What is it with you and—"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a passionate kiss on his mouth.

Surprised, shell-shocked, and in need of immediate counseling, Masque said, "What was that for?"

"My reviewers love me," said Random smilingly, let go of him, pushed him back into the closet, and closed the door on him again, turning the key with jaunty fingers.

**The "What the Heck Were They Thinking" School of Culinary Arts** (Chapter 8)

Pink Haze Phantom had his hands full. Of muffin dough, to be exact, but also he was having a bit of trouble with the Christines, most of whom seemed disposed to be helpful, but somehow just couldn't quite manage it.

"Christine, would you please put the knife down? You're making me worried. Christine— no, Christine, stop bashing Christine over the head with the frying pan. It might hurt her. Unlikely, I know, but— Christine, would you please keep Christine from licking the floor, who knows where her tongue's been. Christine, did I not instruct you to put down the knife? Put down the spoon, too, that is equally worrisome. No, Christine, I don't want you to— Christine, leave my pants alone, please. Christine! No! That is not acceptable! Christine , I mean it, no silverware of any sort—"

And then he saw something that made him _really_ mad.

"_Put— the blender— DOWN_!"


	17. Extras 3: Outtakes Chap 9 thru 12

**A/N: One of these days I will get back to the review-replies, but not, apparently, today. Here is the second chapter of outtakes. There will be at least one more, two if I think of anything else, a chapter of interviews, an after party, some Laments, a Where Are They Now section, and I may draft some of the people in the phic to write their own versions. Anyway. This phic looks like my absolute best chance to reach a thousand reviews. This. Is. Awesome. I thank you guys so much for reviewing, but! If you help me reach a thousand I will name my first child after all of you. The poor thing may get made fun of in school, but it'll be worth it. So if you don't mind taking a moment or two and reviewing a chapter or two that you missed, I would appreciate it so much. Thank you. Er— that is all. Goodnight, Seattle, I love ya!**

**Singing**

They were waiting for the muffins to be brought out. Various activities had been invented in order to pass the time, mostly involving very slow chases with the Writers at one end and the Eriks at the other. Practically the entire room was revolving as the people in it edged towards and away from each other. To the participants it was maddeningly frustrating, singularly frightening, or all in good fun— to an observer, had there been an observer, it would have looked like a school of fish that I once saw at the Monterey Bay Aquarium that kept going around and around and around, all facing the same way, which meant that the scenery was the same all the time, ie. the fish-in-front-of-them's tail, which seemed monumentally pointless to me, but as I have mentioned elsewhere I enjoy pointless things, and so I spent twenty minutes watching them with total concentration.

But that's just me.

Suddenly the spell of frustration, fright, or fun was broken, as, from the kitchen, there came the sound of Pink Haze Phantom, singing.

"_Pink, it was love at first sight— Pink, is like red but not quite—"_

There was a second of genuine startlement, and then every single one of the people in the room burst into spontaneous laughter. It was a great moment, a moment of sharing, a moment of some unspoken, but undoubtedly deep, realization of what being human was all about, whether you were real or fictional, male or female, a writer or just a phan, an Erik or a Christine or some improbably-named phan-phic author.

Just as quickly as it came, it left again, and the circular motion that denoted frustrated desires continued, while in the Administrative Office Random Battlecry felt suddenly and inexplicably sad.

**Drug Test** (Chapter 9)

Everyone was peacefully eating muffins. This was unusual. Not the muffin-eating itself, which went on a surprisingly large amount of the time, but the peaceful part. This was not a normal thing to occur.

And so, it had to be disrupted, destroyed, and generally done away with.

This office was admirably filled by the policemen who came crashing into the lair, waving their night sticks and saying, "What's all this then?" like a group of Monty Python imitators.

Officer Moriarty was in charge. He tried to look down his nose at the Eriks but the fact that he was a good foot shorter than most of them didn't help.

"What's all this, then?" he asked, unoriginally.

Kay Erik stared at him balefully. "A clam bake," he said. "What does it look like?"

"A clam bake?" repeated Officer Moriarty doubtfully. He looked around the occupants of the lair, most of whom wore masks, and a few of whom were strangling some of the others. He barked a sudden laugh. "You know, fellow, for a moment I almost believed you. But no, you can't fool Timmy Moriarty, no sir. No, sir. No, sir, I say, no, sir." Here he paused and waited expectantly for Kay Erik to say something.

Which, eventually, he did.

"Ah," said Kay Erik, still doing the baleful stare, lifting his wrists in the air. "You have caught me, Officer Moriarty. It isn't really a clam bake. I lied about it being a clam bake. I've never even eaten a clam. I wouldn't know a clam from a jelly roll."

"That's what I thought," said Officer Moriarty self-importantly.

"Clearly you are too clever for me."

"Yes, well, you'd have to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on old Timmy Moriarty."

"I daresay you'd have to stay up all night."

Officer Moriarty frowned. "I don't understand what you mean by that, sir— but come along. Come along, come along. Come along. Come along, come along, come along. Come. Along. Come along. I have it on good authority that there are illicit substances in this here basement."

Kay Erik considered this for a moment, then lifted a finger and pointed at Gerry Phantom. "That, sir, is the closest thing to illicit substances that there is here."

"Thank you," said Gerry Phantom, inordinately pleased.

"If the law requires you to confiscate him— by all means, be my guest."

"Ah, you will have your little joke, sir," said Officer Moriarty, chuckling deeply. "No, sir, I'm afraid that no matter what you say, we've got to give you all a drug test. Here and now."

"H-here and now?" faltered Kay Erik, all self-confidence suddenly wavering.

"Yes. Is there a problem with that?"

"Er—"

"Bring out the equipment!" shouted Officer Moriarty, tending to business.

Kay Erik began to panic.

"I don't see what the big deal is," said Crawford Phantom prosaically. "We haven't been doing drugs."

"The muffins man, the muffins!" hissed Kay Erik. Crawford Phantom looked at him.

"Listen, I understand that the muffins are good, and that you are quite attached to them, and that they produce some quite interesting sensations in you, but really they don't qualify as an illegal substance."

"Poppy-seed!" moaned Kay Erik quietly. "We've been eating poppy-seed muffins!"

"Poppy-seed?" said Gerry Phantom. "Is that what those were? Oh, good. I am relieved. For the past few minutes I thought I was picking small bugs out of my teeth."

Kay Erik turned the baleful glare on him, but before he could do anything drastic they were rounded up and subjected to the drug test. Officer Moriarty was quite shocked by the results, needless to say, and the whole cast was carted off to jail to think about their sins and try and punjab any passing police officers.

**The Pouts** (Chapter 10)

Finally Random broke off kissing Gerry Phantom and smiled at him.

"I'm going to get royally punjabbed for that, I think."

"Not by me," offered Gerry Phantom, dazed.

"No, by my readers. I wasn't worried about you. You're not exactly scary." She gestured to Stalker Erik that he could put her down now, and he did, depositing her with a thump on the ground.

"Did you know," he said, looking down at her, "that when you kissed him the rest of your face was quite a ways away?"

"Oh yes? Can't say I realized it. But its to be expected, when you put the Scottish Pout and the California Pout together." Random got up off the floor. "You didn't know I was the California Pout, did you? Well, its not like Angelina Jolie's, or anything— but its fairly noticeable. Especially just after I wake up. I have been known to kiss people good morning from five inches away."

**Of Forehead Kisses And Manly-Squees** (Chapter 10)

"Aw, come on, Stalker Erik, you know I wouldn't have sentenced you to seduction without your permission," complained Random.

He glared at her. "However, butt-pinching is fine, I see!"

"You know perfectly well I asked permission first."

"Yes, but did I give it?"

"I— I don't remember."

"Convenient, isn't it?"

"Listen, buster, its because of me that you now have a fan club. You think you'd be this popular if it weren't for me putting you in WLIIA?"

Stalker Erik sneered down at her, and whipped out his wallet. "Allow me to show you," he said, pulling out a long string of plastic-protected pictures of various females. Most of them looked as though they'd been taken from a long ways away, being somewhat blurry and with trees in between, although there were a few mug-shots as well. "My harem."

Random softened a little as she noticed her picture prominent amongst the others. "Aw, Erik— hey, how did you get one of me in my bedroom?"

"Let us ignore that for the moment."

"Let us _not. _Hey. Is— is that my _mothe_r?"

Stalker Erik swiftly folded up the pictures and put them away, but not quite swiftly enough. Random was shaking with indignation.

"You and your camera! And to think that I once gave you forehead-kisses in good faith!"

"Screw your forehead-kisses," said Stalker Erik sulkily.

"Well, screw your manly-squees then!"

"Oh yeah?" said Stalker Erik, hurt.

"Yeah!" snarled Random, deeply wounded. She had found a chair to stand on, and they were now growling in each other's faces.

"Grrr."

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrr."

A pause.

"Wanna arm-wrestle?"

"Absolutely."

There was a sudden round of applause from the watchers, and the two erstwhile antagonists took a bow, smiling.

**Stalker Fans** (Chapter 10)

"Okay, you now have ten minutes with whatever Erik you like best," said Random, looking at her watch. "And— GO!"

There was a general rush and a startled cry from someone being trampled.

Random looked up from her wrist and beheld the Phictional Eriks standing around looking bemused and a little irritated. She frowned in confusion, looked over in the corner, and the mystery was solved.

"Hey! I mean the Phantom Eriks! Not the stalker! Leave the stalker alone!" She was ignored by everyone and just stood and shook her head at them all. "That is so wrong—"

Later, disheveled, disturbed, and secretly rather pleased, he tried to explain it to her.

"I am afflicted with being an incorrigible flirt."

"You mean you don't practice in a mirror?"

"I don't know why everyone likes me so much! I suppose it must be my animal magnetism."

"Its your animal_ something_."

**Stalking the Stalker (Chapter 10)**

_Random fully expects to be punjabbed for this one_

As they stood watching Random ascend back to reality, or what passed for reality in her mind, Stalker Erik felt a definite presence behind his left shoulder, and whirled with cat-like grace that, unfortunately, he wasn't very good at, and which caused him to trip over his own two feet and crash ignominiously to the floor, from which he glared up at the Maiden Amorisa.

"Can I help you?"

"Mmm, mmph, mm," said The Maiden Amorisa.

Stalker Erik began to laugh. "Yes?"

"Mmm. Mmmmmmm!"

"I forgot about the glue-stick. That was clever of me, wasn't it?" He levered himself to his feet and bent over her.

"Mmph! Mmm-mm mmmmmghrmph!"

"What was that? Seduction scene?"

"Mmm-hhm!"

"Listen, kiddo, I'm not going to be seduced by someone who can't even open her mouth." He gave a thoroughly evil grin. "Where's the fun in that?"

The sheer sexual-innuendo-ness of this comment caused The Maiden Amorisa to faint dead away, and Stalker Erik quickly turned the faint into a deep coma by pinching her nostrils shut so she couldn't breathe, chuckling quietly to himself. He let go before the coma turned into death, since bodies are notoriously difficult to dispose of, and as he pulled his hand away the breath that she let out caused snot to fountain out of her nostrils, soaking her shirt and making him laugh till he choked.

**Willow Rose On The Attack** (Chapter 11)

"What's going on?"

"I think there's going to be a fight."

"A fight? With the fops?"

"Who else would you fight with?"

"Right!" shouted Willow Rose, and ran off to the bedroom. She returned a few seconds later armed with about twenty different knives, two swords, a matching set of punjabs, throwing stars, an entire set of kitchen knives, a sandwich, three Swiss Army knives, a bazooka, a cannon, a tank, a machine gun, and a pair of wicked-looking scissors. She made it three struggling steps before collapsing under the weight of all this equipment; but, reaching a hand from the rubble, found the lightest object she could, and hurled the sandwich at the fops with deadly accuracy and punishing force.

**Something Interesting** (Chapter 11)

_This one goes out to Mandy—_

"I demand something interesting happen!" said Songwind, taking her job as official Phic Moderator quite seriously.

"Yeah, like that'll work," said lazy.kender. "Since when does Random listen to anything we say?"

Their glances were drawn to sparklyscorpion, who was making out with her Creepy Slasher Love in the corner.

"Well, that was just the one time—"

And then their glances were drawn to Stalker Erik, who sat in the middle of the rest of the Eriks, holding forth and being generally Erik-y. Oddly enough, they were begging him for music lessons.

"Yeah, okay, so sometimes she does. But not often."

"But I'm the Phic Moderator!" said Songwind. "I've got the hat to prove it."

However, the powers that be seemed to be ignoring this, as nothing of note occurred. Mandy the O stood and sighed and shook herself.

"All I ask, Lord, is ten minutes with Kay Erik, whipped cream, a whoopie cushion, and a pair of edible handcuffs. But lets face it. Nothing's happening to us. So we'll have to go out and happen to it."

"What, to nothing?" asked VegaOfTheLyre.

"Yeah, what's the point of happening to nothing?" inquired SimplyElymas.

"I think," said Mandy slowly, "that we should do something about the fops. Make them pay for all the times they've taken Christine away from Erik."

She was eyed suspiciously.

"Wait a second," said Mademoiselle Daae. "You're an E/OW writer. You don't care about Christine. You're just looking for an excuse to do something mean to the fops!"

"Can you blame me?" said Mandy innocently.

"No—" they admitted.

"But what should we do?" asked Killthefop. "I mean, we could kill them, but that's not really that much fun once you get used to it. We could put whoopie cushions underneath them—"

"Tar and feathers," suggested le chat.

"Set their pants on fire," offered ElfLover.

"Light their farts," said ChristineX.

"Ooh!" said Mandy, her eyes alight. "That one! That one!"

"I was just joking—"

"Oh, you think I won't do it?" From a pocket Mandy drew a lighter and flicked it on and off in a meaningful way.

"But—"

"Do you dare me?"

"Well—"

"Good enough. Here I go." Mandy marched purposefully off, a grim smile on her face. She disappeared into the entrance to the labyrinth.

The rest of the Writers waited, giggling nervously.

They didn't have to wait very long.

The clicking of the lighter echoed back along the corridors till it reached them, sounding eerie; a few seconds later there was a louder click and then a sound like **_WHOMPH! _**followed by an explosion. Laughter started amidst the Writers— laughter that slowed to chuckles and then to silence as they heard the sound of flames licking at the walls. Smoke began to billow out of the entrance to the labyrinth, the Eriks took notice, and something bad was undoubtedly about to happen.

The feeling was mitigated by the sight of Mandy the O, tottering out of the labyrinth tunnel, her face soot-blackened and her clothes ragged.

"Guys," she said dazedly, "I think I burnt down the labyrinth!"

"What about the Raouls?" yelled sparklyscorpion from where she stood by her now-shirtless CSL.

"They— they went up like charcoal!" gasped Mandy. She giggled, and the giggle turned into a laugh, and the laugh turned into howling mirth. "Who— who knew—"

The good thing about laughter is its contagious in the nicest way. And the good thing about the Writers is they're quite willing to drop sanity in favor of enjoyment of a situation.

Eventually, the smoke died away, and laughter prevailed.

**Phantom Library **(Chapter 12)

The book was not, strangely enough, having the intended effect, and Hoshi put it down at last, somewhere in between the birth of the blueberry muffin and the addition of lemon poppyseed to the muffin canon. She got up and wandered back over to Leroux Erik, who was doing something deviant in a corner.

She watched him for a moment.

"Why," she said, "are you voting liberal?"

He jumped and swung round to glare at her.

"Can I help you— mademoiselle?"

"Yes. Are you sure you don't have any books other than these?"

He stared at her, and then indicated his bedroom with a sweep of his arm. "You are welcome to look."

"Thanks," said Hoshi, "I think I will." She went through the door, which had her name on it, and located a small bookshelf. For lack of anything better to do, she began to read off the titles out loud.

"_Life With Muffins— The Muffin Man— Late Lamented Lemons, the Collected Poetical Works of Erik duPrie— Muffin with a Pearl Earring— the Hitch Hikers Guide to Lemon Poppyseed Muffins— Lord of the Muffins: Return of the Blueberry— Good Muffins— Muffins Adverse— Captains Muffins— Muffin on a Hot Tin Roof— Roget's Thesaurus?_" Shaking her head and muttering something bad about Leroux Erik's taste in literature, she went back to bed.

**Nightmares** (Chapter 12)

Stalker Erik was having bad dreams. He dreamt that he was in the midst of a crowd of people, and they were all trying to pinch him. He awoke with a scream and sat up, trying to catch his breath.

"What's wrong, darling?" asked The Maiden Amorisa, sitting up besides him and laying a hand on his shoulder.

He awoke from that nightmare, too, screaming, and sat bolt upright in the lair. Kay Erik sat up next to him.

"What's wrong, darling?"

This, too, turned out to be a nightmare, and, as usual, he awoke with a scream. There was a rustle as Random sat up next to him. "What's wrong, darling?"

He screamed and screamed, but this time, unfortunately, it was real.

**Gerry/Patrick Singing Contest** (Chapter 12)

Emmy Christine finally stopped singing "Seventy-Six Trombones" when Gerry Phantom clapped a hand over her mouth. He glared at Patrick Raoul.

"By rights, you should be dead."

"Which rights?" demanded Patrick Raoul, looking confused.

"My rights!" howled Gerry Phantom.

"You have rights?"

"I have rights— and lefts!"

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"Who cares, fop!"

"_I am not a fop_!" screamed Patrick Raoul shrilly, his hands clenched, his eyes shut tight, and tears seeping down his face, rather undermining his claim.

"You are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Ha!"

Patrick Raoul opened his eyes and glared at Gerry Phantom. "That's it, I challenge you to a duel."

"Fine," said Gerry Phantom, before he remembered that he had lost the last several duels he had been in. "I mean— "

"A singing duel," said Patrick Raoul triumphantly.

"Very well," snapped Gerry Phantom, and then remembered the argument they'd just had and started sniggering.

"Ready? Go!" said Patrick Raoul. They both started to sing "All I Ask Of You," because it was the only song that Patrick Raoul knew. Gerry Phantom screwed up almost immediately because he was still giggling over the argument they'd had.

There was silence and shock in the lair.

EriksAngel1870 turned to A-Lonely-Dreamer-56.

"Did Gerry Phantom just— lose?"

"That's unusual."

"Don't worry," called the voice of Random. "Its just an excuse to have Gerry Phantom kick Patrick Raoul's butt, as was repeatedly requested by my bloodthirsty reviewers."

**Gerry Kicks Patrick's Butt** (Chapter 12)

_A Logical Extension of the Last Outtake_

Gerry Phantom advanced on Patrick Raoul, who took one look at the expression on his face and said, "Meep?"

He then had his butt savagely kicked.

Repeatedly.

Sigh.

Happy now?

**Random Takes Over The World (Chapter 12)**

In the Administrative Office, Random was trying to work out her writer's block by constructive cursing, receiving a neck massage from Rik Mayall, and beating on Hoshi with a muffin.

"I can't believe— _bleep_— oh _man_ that feels good— muffin! —that this is happening to me. Look, when I control the world, there will be a dearth of Writer's Block."

"A dearth?" said phantomzgerl. "That sounds interesting."

"Also I will make it a three-day week."

"Can you make it where guitar strings don't break any more?" grunted Masque de Nuit from the corner, where he'd gone through an entire packet.

"Absolutely, my good man. Busted guitar strings shall be a thing of the past. Any other requests?"

"Ooh! I want to marry Leroux Erik!"

"Thank you for that, ElfLover, I knew you wouldn't let me down. Anything else?"

"Boss, when you take over the world, can I have— my name— on a door?"

Random raised her eyebrows. "A door? Your boss takes over the world and all you ask for is one measly _door_? Dear, sweet, simple Hoshi— think big. Think _big_. You can have your name— on _three_ doors."

"Gee, thanks boss!"

"Now go get me my shoes, and stand still while I hit you with a muffin."

"Right away, boss."

**Cuddles** (Chapter 12)

Life was grand.

The Eriks had suddenly had a change of heart, against all reason and dictates of personality, and had lines of their phans waiting to come to them for hugs and kisses and cuddles and a few heavier make-out sessions, according to inclination. It didn't make any sense, but it made the readers happy.

Take it as read that **YOU **were in **EXACTLY** the line you wanted to be in, and that **YOUR** **ERIK** was waiting for you** SPECIFICALLY** and was intending to declare himself **IN LOVE **with **YOU**.

Unfortunately, everyone took that last sentence as reality and fights broke out amongst the Writers over the idea of owning an Erik, any Erik, exclusively.

Stalker Erik sat on one of the abandoned lawn chairs, having written himself a glass of red wine. He leaned back and lifted his glass in salute to the Writers who were wrestling on the ground.

"This," he said comfortably, "is why I have a harem."

Random walked in and observed the chaos happily, humming "A Few of My Favourite Things." After a moment she burst into song.

"_Eriks and Christines and horses and fops/ chaos and punjabs and Raouls that go pop/ muffins and stalkers and carrot cake/ all this is there in the lair beyond the lake_— hey! No hair pulling! Hair pulling is restricted! Knock it off."

"You've created some monsters," said Stalker Erik.

"I know, isn't it great? They're all insane, you know."

"And you say this as though you are your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, walkabout rational-thinking common normal human being, hmm?"

"No. I am many things, but one thing I am not is hypocritical." Random looked pleased with herself. "Sanity is so overrated, you see—"

"I see."

"Sanity didn't get me six hundred reviews, that's for sure."

"No, toadying to your readers did," said Stalker Erik pleasantly.

"Watch it. I'll go back and replace all references to Stalker with— something else humorous and detrimental to your image, which I can't be bothered to think up right now. Right, that's about enough." Random quietly got the attention of the main Eriks. They tore their gazes away from the still-wrestling and biting and scratching and chewing and screeching and pinching and punching and kicking Writers, and came over to her warily.

"What is it?"

"Time to go," said Random brightly. "If this works, this is how I'll end the phic. Leave them all behind, and take you with me. How's about it?"

The Eriks exchanged glances.

"Would you— bind us in any way?" said Kay Erik suspiciously.

"Not unless you asked me to."

"And we wouldn't be forced to endure your squeeing?" asked Crawford Phantom.

"All told, I do less squeeing than your average young, ignored female," said Random with an innocent smile.

"And would you ask me to strip-tease for you?" inquired Gerry Phantom with a frown. "Because— you know— I think I could be quite good at it if I got the practice."

"At least once a week," said Random. "If you really must."

She turned to Leroux Erik.

"And— what about you?" she asked in halting, disjointed French, her face serious for once. "You are the one that matters the most, really."

He stared at her for a moment.

"Do you have— muffins?"

"Only if you want them."

"I do not."

"Then there will be no muffins."

Leroux Erik thought about this, then nodded. "Lead on, I say."

Random smiled with pure joy. As she turned away she caught sight of Stalker Erik, on his second glass of wine.

"And you?"

Stalker Erik thought for a moment, put the glass down and raised his eyebrows at her. "You want me too?"

"You're an Erik. Plus we've been pretend-married for, like, a month now. We could use an anniversary trip."

He appeared to be thinking about it when The Maiden Amorisa rose from the lair, dripping wet, her hair streaming with duckweed, her face contorted and blue from drowning. She'd been zombified. Such, as has been repeatedly mentioned, is the power of fiction.

She made straight for Stalker Erik, her arms outstretched, her eyes wide.

"Must— pinch— the stalker's— "

Stalker Erik rose from his chair with alacrity and ran after Random and the other Eriks, calling to them to wait.

"I knew you'd change your mind," said Random, smugly. "I am— irresistible!"

"Just you keep telling yourself that."

And they walked off into the sunset, five Eriks and a Random, despite the fact that they were still five stories underground at the time and there wasn't any sun to set.

Random's voice floated back to the still-fighting Writers in the lair, all oblivious to the fact that the main Eriks had gone.

"_Such is the power_—"


	18. Extras 4: Random Outtakes

**Just a few replies as this is an exceptionally long chapter:**

**DarkPriestessofAssimbya:** Well, Masque de Nuit answered you in his review, if you care to read it—

**Aelfwyn**: I promise to start concentrating on other stories! Well, I'll have to. This one's nearly over.

**EriksAngel1870:** A _good_ reputation, right?

**Phantom's Fallen Angel**: I expected an outcry over the Cuddles outtake. But I put it on there anyway. Because I couldn't have managed everyone getting to snog their favourite Erik individually— although if you're really desperate you can e-mail me and I'll see what I can run up. I've done that for a few people. One in particular (sparklyscorpion) said she printed hers up and put it on her wall. (shakes her head) Some people— cuz its not like I have my Erik kisses printed up. Nope. Not at all.

Larea: If you're looking to nit-pick, no matter what story you go through, all you're going to end up with is a handful of nits. Please take this advice in the spirit in which it was given—

**Mademoiselle Phantom**: No spanking. Sorry. But— no.

**Lazy.kender**: Thanks. I think. Hmm... must put that in my bio.

**letthedreamdescend**: Okay, ff dot net ate all of your review but the first two words and I'm incredibly curious as to what exactly you were going to say.

**Musique et Amour: **Thank you for coming back and reviewing. I crave attention. I especially crave male attention. I especially especially crave manly-squees.And the final outtake is my particular present to you, for letting me make fun of you all these chapters—

**A/N: This is the random outtakes chapter— outtakes that could fit in practically anywhere. Or, to put it another way, outtakes that I was too lazy to figure out where they went. Enjoy. Review. **

**What the Muffins Really Mean**

"I'm curious, honestly," admitted Hoshi candidly. "What do the muffins mean?"

Random eyed her. "Look, if you really want me to answer that, you're going to have to be prepared for a long-winded speech on the subject."

"Oh," said Hoshi, in an I-changed-my-mind tone. "Well, I wouldn't want you to trouble yourself."

"Oh, its no trouble. I have one prepared."

Without further ado, Random stood up and launched into the following bit of interestingness.

"Someone asks me about the significance of the muffins, and I feel compelled to answer them in the most truthful manner possible, considering that I am not a truthful person, at least, not when it comes to muffins— however, truthfully, the muffins are often used as a metaphor for life, with the lemon poppyseed-ness of them a counterpoint to the ickiness that Leroux Erik was musing on in the first chapter of my phic, perhaps you've heard of it, its called "Whose Lair Is It Anyway" and it stars all the Eriks you've ever heard of. Returning to the subject at hand, ie, muffins, the fact that they are lemon poppyseed also points to my general dissatisfaction with and disappointment in life, because really I much prefer blueberry. However, this is not the single and only cosmic significance of the muffins. They are also manifestations of the spirits of stage-Phantoms that have passed beyond— as well as a metaphor for sex. I'm not quite sure why, except that an awful lot of things are a metaphor for sex, and I suppose I like to jump on the bandwagon as much as everyone else, which I guess is why we have that saying in the first place, and seeing as I don't have a boyfriend, sometimes muffins are the only option. I mean, I could try chocolate, but I like muffins better. This may render me unusual, but a lot of things do, and so it wouldn't be unusual if it made you think I was unusual, and anyway I happen to like the word unusual, and I don't see what's wrong with using it a few times in a sentence, though of course I'd throw a fit if anyone else did it. Other than that, the muffins are made by my mother, and she burnt them when I was a child, leaving me forever scarred and muffin-phobic, or muffin-aholic, whichever is funnier. And, because everything has a prosaic meaning, the muffins are breakfast. And, occasionally, lunch. Please don't worry about the muffins— my insanity only affects myself."

She finally stopped talking and looked around the now-empty room.

"Guys?"

**Return of the Blender**

There was a knock on the door of LuvinLivnReadn.

"Yes?"

A shame-faced Pink Haze Phantom stood there.

"Is this your blender?"

"Why, yes, it is, thank you."

"No, no, thank you. Thank you, my dear. I cannot tell you how much it meant to me, but I must attempt to try regardless. It was the apple of my eye, my light in a dark place, the clouds in my coffee, my—" PH Phantom took a deep and emotional breath. "Basically, my dear— it was my blender."

"Yes, well, its mine now," said LuvinLivnReadn, and shut the door in his face.

**Stuck**

There was silence in the Administrative Office, and had been for some time. Random had tried to scratch her ear and ended up giving herself a black eye with the chain around her wrist, and apart from storming in a circle around the desk and screaming "Sausages! SAUSAGES!" had taken the pain remarkably well, but then, she was a mountain girl. Like Heidi, only without the pigtails and the goats. Now, she began banging her head softly against the desk.

The minions were engrossed in their cutthroat Monopoly game, and Masque de Nuit was throwing sharpened pencils at the ceiling. Adison had gone out to get some Chinese food, which Random planned on refusing to eat, but now thought it would at least relieve the boredom.

Quietly she began to sing.

"I feel random— oh so random— I feel random, in tandem, not rhyme—"

This earned her a startled look from Masque and a few muttered _Shhhh!_s from the minions. Random shrugged helplessly. "I'm stuck," she said. "I hate writing. I don't know why I do it."

"To please your enormous ego with six hundred reviews?" suggested Masque mildly.

"Look, before you start off on ego enormity— hey. Why are you so mean to me anyway?"

"Its not me, its you. I'm a fictionalized version of a real person, remember? You're the one writing abuse." Masque snorted quietly. "And you say _I'm_ a masochist."

"You take all the fun out of feeling sorry for myself," sniffed Random.

"That's what I'm here for."

"You could at least join me in my randomness."

"Never in a million years could I be as random as you are," said Masque definitely, and then immediately betrayed his claim by saying,

"_Bert was a young man from Morail,_

"_His blond wife turned suddenly pale._

"_When asked, "Are you hurt?"_

"_She replied to him, "Bert!_

"_I'm afraid I've just broken a nail!_"

Random sniggered. Masque frowned.

"You made me do that."

Random threw her pen at him. He caught it and threw it back. A mildly diverting game of catch was developing when Random suddenly started singing again, which startled Masque so badly that he missed and the pen hit him above the eye.

"Ow."

"I feel random— oh so random—"

There was nothing for it. It was either cry like a baby over being hit with a ballpoint, or join in the singing. Masque was a trooper. He sniffed mightily and hit a pleasant harmony which Random immediately betrayed by laughing at him.

"I feel random— oh so random— I feel random in tandem, not rhyme—"

"I wish I knew the rest of the words to this song," said Random, still giggling slightly.

"You aren't singing the words anyway."

"Yes, but I can't properly parody a song if I don't even know the words to it. Maybe some people can, but not me. I guess we'll just have to sing the same thing over and over and over—"

They did, and it wasn't long before, caught up in the spirit of things, waltzing was begun as well. The minions abandoned the Monopoly game before someone got hurt, and started a chorus line, complete with high kicks.

The room reverberated with noise.

"La-la— la la la la laaa laaa— la la la la laaa laaaa—"

"I feel random, oh so random!" shouted Random and Masque, going around in a circle and trying not to trip over the chain, or each other's feet, or their own feet, or the chair legs, or each other's legs, or Random's hair.

It was at this point that Adison got back.

She stared at the amusing chaos in the room, which suddenly ground to a halt. Adison's mouth hung open.

"I got stuck," said Random meekly, with a shrug.

**Homicidal Tendencies Make Me Hot**

"Its really rather ridiculous," Random began, "that we all love Erik so much. Stop beaming, Stalker Erik, you know perfectly well I wasn't referring to you. When you think about it— why do we love an insane madman lunatic who lives underneath an Opera House and kills people? Why?"

They thought about this.

"Never mind," said Random.

"It is kind of— odd," said Renee17. "But, I mean, I guess its just an indication of the basic mentality of our generation." She shrugged. Random stared at her.

"I wish I'd kept that line for myself. That sounded really good."

"Well, I don't see why you need to put all those big words to it," said Adison. "It's a simple enough concept. Homicidal tendencies make us hot."

"And I _really_ wish I'd kept that line. I _love_ that line."

"Erik isn't really a killer. He's just misunderstood," said A-Lonely-Dreamer-56.

"That line, on the other hand, I am glad I gave away."

"Random, stop being all writerly and join us in being a phangirl, why don't you?"

"Oh, right." With a few scratches of the pen she had summoned up exact replicas of Leroux Erik, Kay Erik, Crawford Phantom, and Gerry Phantom for all the girls in the Admin Office to drool over, whilst Masque de Nuit took himself off down the hall to find some tea, grumbling to himself annoyedly— "_My harem, dangit, mine_!"

"Isn't it kind of strange, though," put in YoukoElfMaiden, "the fact that the Eriks are up here to be drooled over and also, simultaneously, down there in the lair to be drooled over?"

"Well, why not?" said Random reasonably. "After all, clones are people, two."

The looks on the faces of her minions made one thing clear.

"I should have given that one away too, huh?"

"Preferably a long, long ways away, yes."

They settled down to some serious phangirling, until Masque came back in and started looking sulky and kicking the desk. Random calmed him down a bit with a forehead kiss, he rewarded her with a manly squee, and all was peace and harmony in the pretend-marriage, until she patted him dismissively on the shoulder and went back to trying to convince Leroux Erik to hold her on his lap.

It worked, eventually, because she was the Writer. And Writers get to make things like that happen.

Its fun.

I suggest you try it for yourself.

**Fopman**

_now showing in a theatre near you!_

The minions were milling. They were quite good at that, now that there were so many of them. Milling seemed to come naturally.

"Where's Patrick Raoul?" asked darksidetwin2 curiously. "Why didn't he show up with the rest of them?"

"I planned a special entrance for him," said Random, with a wicked smile.

Masque scrutinized her. "That's a wicked smile," he observed.

"You bet your boots," said Random abstractedly. She was drawing a punjab in the margin of her notebook, a punjab with a fop in it. "You just bet your thigh-highs, Erik."

"Thigh-highs?" said Masque.

Random looked up, her eyes lighting. "There's an idea— Erik in thigh-highs."

"I object," said Masque immediately.

Random waved at him. "No, no, not you. Look, never mind. My mind isn't working properly at the moment. What was I talking about?"

"An entrance for the fop," Renee17 reminded her.

"Ah yes," said Random, and started writing again.

Down in the lair, confusion was reigning as usual, and then there was a yell from a long ways away. The Eriks looked up. The Writers looked apprehensive. The Christines just kept doing what they were doing because they didn't notice.

Patrick Raoul suddenly swung into the lair on a rope, wielding a sword and yelling, "Ha ha!" his ponytail flashing gallantly.

"Well," said MindGame, "the swash would appear to be buckled."

"That should satisfy the Patrick Raoul lovers," said Random, and wrote something else.

The rope broke abruptly and Patrick Raoul landed on his butt, skidding to a stop on his backside. He lay there for a moment moaning in pain and then began to cry.

"And that should please the rest of us," said Random with a delighted chuckle.

Kay Erik came and stood over Patrick Raoul, a disdainful expression on his face.

"Who do you think you are?" he requested. "Fopman or something?"

"Ow—"

"Did you think you could fly?"

"I had a cape," said Patrick Raoul from the ground, as though this explained everything.

"Let me at him," said Masque de Nuit, his eyes beginning to glow with a frightful light. "Let me at him!"

"Calm down, Erik, we can't kill him just yet."

"Come on, Random, let me get him! I wanna— I wanna get him, Random—"

Random gave him a worried stare. "Erik, are you feeling alright?"

"I wanna—"

"Your eyes are turning red."

"I wanna—"

"And there's smoke coming out your ears."

"I need to—"

"That's it!" said Random, grabbing his arm as he rushed for the door. He pulled but she hung on with all her strength and started getting dragged towards the door. "Guys, a little help here—"

In short order Masque was tied to a chair. He wouldn't shut up so someone stuck a sock in his mouth. He glared at Random and Adison and the minions as they took their seats and tried to pick up where they had left off.

Random picked up her pen and held it poised over the paper before seeking help.

"Fopman," prompted Hoshi.

"Ah yes," said Random, and wrote on.

**Sleep-Deprived Random**

_Interestingly enough, written at three-thirty in the afternoon, with certain assistance from my niece, Sydney the Poet_

Nudge, nudge.

"Wake up."

"Mmph."

"Random. Wake up."

"Erik."

"Random."

"_ERIK ERIK ERIK ERIK ERIK ERIK ERIK ERIK!"_

The loudness of her yelling caused Masque de Nuit to stumble backwards and sit down rather hard, where the rest of the minions laughed at him. "You didn't think she was screaming _your_ name, did you?"

"She was!"

"Yeah, but not_ your_ your name."

"Gerry's, probably."

"No, Leroux's."

"No, Kay's."

"Whatever, its still scary," said Stalker Erik faintly.

Random sat up, blinking, rubbing her eyes. "Why did you guys wake me up? I'm— _tired_!" She flopped her head back on the desk with a thump. "_Ow_— "

"You're supposed to be writing."

"I haven't slept in two days."

"You're supposed to be writing anyways."

Random yawned. "You guys are— annoying, you know that?"

MindGame poked her. "Up, up, up."

Random growled. "I hate you all so much. I'd kill you if I had the strength."

"Okay, so she's not a morning person," said Hoshi cheerfully. "You wouldn't kill me, boss, right?"

"Maybe."

"She wouldn't kill _me_," volunteered Masque. Random raised her head and glared at him.

"You— first to die." She made a throat-slitting gesture at him and said, "Kkkkrrrk."

Adison handed the sleepy writer some coffee. "Perk up, Random. We need the next chapter. We're dying for it."

"You're about to," muttered Random before she buried her face in the coffee cup and inhaled the steam greedily. "No sugar in this, I hope."

"Why, don't you like sugar?"

"Not in my coffee. AAARGH! YOU PUT SUGAR IN MY COFFEE!"

"Random— I'll make you some more."

"AAAARGH!"

"Random, how about I make you some more, would you like that?" offered MindGame.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

A-Lonely-Dreamer-56 started laughing. "This isn't really that funny, I don't know why it makes me—"

"AAAARGH!"

Adison calmly poured the cup of coffee down Random's throat. There was a tense moment while everyone waited for the effect that this would have on her.

It was a good one. She blinked sleepily, swallowed a few times, and said, indistinctly, "I burnt my tongue."

"Sorry," said Adison, and patted her on the head. "Will you write now?"

"Its not going to be all that coherent."

"Not a problem."

"It may not be coherent at all."

"That's okay. We just need the next chapter. Now."

Random squinched up her face and stared at the blank paper for a moment. "Fine." She scribbled a small stick-figure in the margin. "Did you know that Douglas Adams said 'Writing comes easy. All you have to do is stare at a blank piece of paper until your forehead bleeds."

"Random, darlin', if you don't give me the next chapter _right now_, your forehead soon_ will _begin to bleed."

"And that'll be a nice splotch of color," said Random dreamily. Masque hit her on the head lightly, with the palm of his hand. "Ow."

"Write."

"Yes sir. Aye-aye, captain. Hey, does anyone know what the French for 'immortal' is?"

Masque sighed deeply. "_Immortel_."

"Ha. It would be something simple like that. Are the italics vital to its other-language-ness? Never mind, I'm not going to use it after all. Erik, teach me French. I feel the need to pontificate in a tongue other than my own."

"Hah!" said Celtic Heart, snorting.

They all looked at her.

"Hah, what?"

"Well— you mentioned French and tongue in almost the same sentence. I thought it was a joke."

Random nodded slowly. "Ah, so_ this_ is why you don't write humor."

"I thought it was a joke! Like— I dunno— how do you French braid hair? With your tongue."

There was a general groaning amidst the group and Random begged for some more coffee. The coffee being duly provided she started to drift off into nowhere-land again, a place she was well known, but suddenly sat up straight and looked at Masque. "Don't hit me."

"I wasn't going to."

"You did before."

"Can I kick you?"

"Please don't."

"Perform some other act of violence?"

"Um."

"May I have permission to dissect your eyebrow?"

"Look, this is strange, I mean, usually its just me who says weird things like that— what's going on?"

"You're sleep-deprived," said Adison knowledgeably, fighting off the small pink elephants that threatened to swarm her.

"Am I? I feel fine."

"Its just the coffee. You're really half-asleep."

"Is that why you have dollar signs in your eyes?"

"No, I have dollar signs in my eyes because I anticipate you making us all very, very rich."

"Really." Random blinked. "How's that exactly?"

"By climbing Mount Everest with the 51st Hairdressers Squadron."

"Ah. That."

"We've been talking about it for weeks. The monkey people are anticipating your arrival any moment now."

Masque held his guitar out to her. "Care to play for me?"

"I don't play the guitar, I play the piano and the violin and the clarinet, badly."

"Hold it for me, anyway, I have to go put on my shining armor."

Random took the guitar and stared at it blankly. "Shining armor?" she said, but when she looked up he was gone, and in his place stood David Wenham. "Ooh! Good trade-off."

"I resent that," said David Wenham, with Masque's voice, which fully creeped Random out.

She blinked at him. "Whoa. Did somebody put something _odd_ in that coffee?"

"Sugar," said Adison, flying away.

"And carrot juice," put in Hoshi, who was now hanging by her tail from a bar that was surgically implanted in the ceiling.

"Hmm."

Celtic Heart was skipping rope with the munchkins. "One of these days we're going to be in color, right?" one of them asked.

"When we get to Oz," Celtic Heart assured her.

"Oh good. There's no place like him."

"What?"

"I said, there's no place like him."

"What?" Celtic Heart laughed. "Do you mean 'home'?"

"Yes, of course, sorry, I talk funny."

"Not a problem," said Celtic Heart, tripping over the jump-rope. Renee17 helped her up.

"Did you know," she said conversationally, "that there are seventeen suns in Uranus?"

Celtic Heart blinked at her. "No, I can't say I did."

"Oh. I guess I made it up, then."

YoukoElfMaiden sat on Masque's desk. "Hey, hey, Random. Look at this."

"What?"

She pointed at a vague area of her face. Random squinted. "What is that?"

"Its my Magic Pimple! Worthy of the capital letters, I assure you!"

"Uh-huh," said Random. "And, er, does it have a purpose?"

"It sings and dances!"

"Marvelous. I wish we could train Erik to do that."

"Hey, I dance," said David Wenham defensively. "I mean, I did when I was _me_. I don't now, 'cuz this bod ain't got no rhythm, but— I learned how to disco in Mexico."

Random squinted at him. "Stalker Erik, is that _really_ you in there?"

"Course its me," said David Wenham, snorting.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"May I dissect your eyebrow?"

"You'd ruin my suit."

At that interesting juncture, the door banged open and Masque de Nuit entered, wearing shining armor. He stopped dead at the sight of Random with her arms around David Wenham's neck.

"Hey!" he said in a marginally jealous tone. It was an "incredibly jealous" tone when I first wrote this, but then I got an attack of realism. Random looked at him.

"Um— who are you?"

Masque clanked over to them. "Who do I look like?"

"But—" Random looked at David Wenham, then looked back at Masque. "Wait a second, there's a zipper on your neck!"

"Is there?" said Masque, twisting.

"I meant him."

"Is there?" said David Wenham, twisting.

"And how do we know that you're really you, and that David Wenham here isn't the real Masque de Nuit?" Random demanded. The Masque in the armor stared at her.

"Did you not just mention the zipper in his neck?"

"Yes, but— you have your tongue pierced, I thought maybe it was just body personalization."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Actually," said Random thoughtfully, "it makes a lot more sense than anything else that's happened in this particular outtake. So how do I know that its really you?"

Masque thought about this, then lifted the visor of his helmet to display his forehead, on which was written, "RANDOM WAS HERE."

"Oh, Erik, it really is you!" cried Random, and began to sob for no reason. Masque took her into his arms to comfort her.

"Manly squee," he whispered in her ear, patting her back. "Manly squee." But she only cried harder. "What's wrong?"

"Your armor is pinching me!"

"Oh. Sorry."

David Wenham stood there and looked rather forlorn. "What about me?" he said. Random sighed deeply and gave him a long and heartfelt kiss.

"I'm afraid I have to banish you back into pretend-dom now," she said regretfully. "But you can come and visit anytime you like."

"Fine," said David Wenham, sniveling, and disappeared.

Gradually, things began to go back to normal, as much as they ever had been normal, which wasn't an awful lot. Random woke up more and started writing something that made sense, as much as anything had ever made sense, which, also, wasn't an awful lot. The pink elephants disappeared, along with Hoshi's tail and the munchkins.

Masque de Nuit stuck to his suit of armor, though.

He said it made him feel— dramatic.

Or pathetic.

Or bombastic.

I regret to admit that I wasn't really paying attention.

**Character Inundation**

_So many people suggested that I put in the characters of Nadir, Madame Girys, the Mary-Sues, et cetera, that I decided to do an outtake to show what it would have been like if I had._

The fops were there— the Writers were there— the Christines were there— the chaos had ensued, once the repair man kicked the machine and got it going again—

And in the spirit of boredom, Random sent in all the characters she could think of.

The Madame Girys came shrieking in, staring evil-eyed at people and whacking away at the Christines with their canes.

The Managers came in couples, holding hands and talking loudly about their girlfriends.

The Persians came in, both the Leroux Daroga model and the Kay Nadir model, along with all the phic-Persians.

The Mary-Sues came in and were promptly torn apart by the Phic-Christines.

The Megs came in. Half of them got frightened and tried to hide behind the fops, and the other half, the phictionalized-half, found themselves unexpectedly and unrealistically attracted to the Eriks.

Then the plot-holes joined the crowd. Suddenly characters found themselves on the other side of the lair for no reason, or ceased the activity they were doing and started a new one instantaneously, or turned into someone else. Eye colors flickered rapidly, along with name-spellings and personalities. A particularly large hole opened up and swallowed the entire lair, dumping everyone in it in an endless sea of confusion from which there was no escaping, no matter what your skills as a writer are, which is why I didn't write it that way in the first place.

Now that we've got _that_ over with—

**Carrot Cake: The Pity Pastry**

"I object to all this talk about carrot cake," said Adison, knocking Random's Gerry-flavored carrot cake out of her hand just as she was taking a bite. "Its just wrong. Morally, ethically, and spiritually wrong."

Random turned her best baleful glare on her PR Agent. "What, carrot cake? _Carrot cake _is morally, ethically, and spiritually wrong?"

"Yes."

Random shook her head. "Not unless its killed someone, Adison. Will someone get me some more please?"

"Sorry, they're all out of the Gerry-flavored stuff," said Hoshi. Random turned a look of utter disbelief on her. "I know, I'm complaining too."

"As I was saying," said Adison, knocking Random's pens and notebooks off the desk and sitting on it. "Carrot cake is what is known as the pity pastry— it was created in order to appease the vegetables, who were fed up with their lack of representation in the dessert industry and were going on strike if someone didn't do something about it. And thus was carrot cake born."

"Have a muffin," said Masque de Nuit, shoving one in Adison's mouth to stop her from talking. It didn't work. Adison merely chewed for a few moments and then went on.

"In 1945, the carrot cake was formally introduced to the public in its Coming Out Party, which, back then, didn't mean that it was gay, only meant that it was old enough to date. At first all was sunshine and roses, as the carrot cake attended social functions, smiled for photographs, and even met the President, who at the time was, as we all know, President— well, I've forgotten. But there was one. President Somebody. I think. But then, the carrot cake got in with a bad crowd. It started drinking, got tattoos of mermaids, piercings in some unmentionable places— and then, at a party one night, someone hooked it up with some bad raisins, and it was all over. The carrot cake went nuts." Adison stopped her history lecture to giggle. "Get it? The carrot cake went nuts?"

"I don't like nuts in my carrot cake," said Random, shrugging.

"Have a muffin," said Masque de Nuit, shoving one partially up her nose.

"Go easy on the muffins, will you?"

"Sorry, I just never realized how liberating it was to shove muffins into people."

"Anyway!" said Adison.

"Yes, Adison, go on, we're listening. Well, not really listening. But we're in the same room as you are, and we aren't sleeping, which is almost the same thing."

Masque beamed at her. "Why, Random, that was almost a _guy_ comment to make!"

"I suppose you must be rubbing off on me, then."

"For a time, the carrot cake was able to keep its dirty secret just that—a dirty secret. But then—"

"Here, boss," said Hoshi, returning from the bakery down the hall. "Regular carrot cake."

"Thank you, Hoshi."

"But then," said Adison, glaring at them, "then a reporter who was trolling the streets one night happened to look in a window and see the popular crowd doing what they do—"

"What is it that the popular crowd do?" asked Masque de Nuit, tipping his head to one side.

"I wouldn't know," said Random, drawing lines in the frosting with her fork.

"Drugs!" said Adison. "They were doing drugs! And the reporter looked in and saw the carrot cake— with a pipe!"

"My grandfather used to smoke a pipe," offered Random.

"He stopped?" asked Masque.

"He died."

"Ah."

"Not that kind of pipe!" said Adison. "A— different kind of pipe! Gah, am I surrounded by naive idiots?"

"What a silly question," said Random easily. "Its okay, really it is, Adison. I only like it for the cream-cheese frosting. Really." She licked off the frosting and threw the rest of the cake to her minions, who squatted in the corner, and proceeded to fight over it.

**Random's Favourite Reviews**

_In a childish attempt to create some competition— _

"What are you giggling at?"

"The top four."

"The fop tour?"

"No, the top four."

"The top four what?"

"The top four reviews."

"Quit trying to prolong this stupid outtake and tell me already."

"Fine," said Random, haughtily, and proceeded to read them out loud.

**4**:_ BWHAHAHAHA Foonly I replied! I loveith your story! Its made me laugh so hard I had to stop and stare at the floor for a while. Thank you for writing all the goodness in the world! _(Miss.Understood.3)

**3**:_ Once again you've given me perfection, my dear author. Keep making Stalker Erik like me and well.. you're frightening me. You're the one stalking me, aren't you:Squints at her: Manly-squee! I have a stalker! _(Musique et Amour)

**2**: _Picking the tray up gently, Adison resisted the childish urge to wrinkle her nose in distaste and pushed the door open with her hip. Random sat on Masque's desk, absently picking at the chain she had attached to herself. The minions were glancing nervously at one another; Hoshi's rendition of "Unbreak My Heart" had calmed the writer's roaring sobs to a low, pitiful moans and hiccups, but all other attempts to cheer her up had been met with biting sarcasm. Or just biting._

_Carefully, Adison brushed past Masque, who was in full lotus position on the floor, pretending to be centered, and placed the tray on the desk._

"_What's this?" Random sniffed, rubbing her tears with the chain she was holding and promptly giving herself a black eye._

"_Against my better judgement, I made you something." Adison sighed to herself, placed a hand on the cover of the tray, and yanked it off._

"_Carrot cake!" _(Adison)

**1**: _My god, you're silly. _(KeeperOFBoxFive)

**The Rest of Random's Song**

_Eriks and Christines and horses and fops_

_chaos and punjabs and Raouls that go pop_

_muffins and stalkers and carrot cake_

_all this is there in the lair beyond the lake_

_Fopcorn and breadsticks and writers insane_

_The writing is crappy, the jokes are inane_

_Older men, poets, pastries to bake_

_All wait for you in the lair beyond the lake_

_When the phans howl_

_When the phics blow_

_And you've shaved your hair_

_Just buckle up and give Random a call_

_And she'll post another— Whose Lair!_

_Five hundred reviews are truly enlightening_

_Though if you look for a plot its quite frightening_

_I don't know how I did this, I'll admit_

_I just keep on writing and hope it's a hit_

_I'm not really as good as you might possibly think_

_And even worse in real life than with paper and ink_

_Someday my cringe-worthy words will be caught_

_But up until then, I still think Erik's hot!_

_When PFN's bad,_

_When there's no one there_

_Just descend to the madness that lies in my mind_

_And I swear to updaaaaaate— Whose Lair!_

**The Stalker and Random Show**

As usual, Random's mind was wandering. It drifted amidst flowered fields and maroon balloons and then, with only token brevity, came back to earth when Hoshi hit her on the head with a rock-hard muffin.

"Ow," said Random, and was knocked out.

She had some interesting and highly worrying dreams. Most of them were about sharing a variety show with Masque de Nuit,_ ha, I typed Masque de Nut first time, I'm funny._

There was applause, at least, which helped. Applause always helps.

"Say, I say, I say,_ Random_!" said Masque.

"_Yes_, Stalker Erik."

"I'm the victim of an ugly rumour at work." He pouted for the audience. About half of it cheered.

"Do you mean, do you mean," said Random, holding one finger up and blinking a lot, "that the rumor _itself_ is ugly— or that the rumor is that_ you_ are ugly."

The pout remained.

"The rumor_ itself_ is ugly."

Random let the silence build for a moment. Then she said, "Well, then, I'm afraid I've got some more bad news for you."

Someone in the tiny orchestra hit a drum with a sound like, "Ba-dum-bum-CHHSH!"

The noise woke Random up and she blinked at all the faces peering down at her.

"Are you alright?" asked Misty Breyer.

"I'm sorry," wailed Hoshi, "I didn't know it was a stale muffin!"

"I just had a terrible dream," said Random.

"Was it a nightmare?" asked Celtic Heart interestedly.

"Definitely. The jokes were _crap_." Hands were offered to pull her up and she accepted the help of most of them. Once back on her feet and tottering, she was shoved gently into her chair, and sat there rubbing her head for a few moments before she looked up.

"Erik."

"Hmm?" said Masque de Nuit, who was trying to play an un-stringed instrument and failing miserably.

"You're not ugly."

He glanced up at her, shock and surprise clambering across his face.

"I'm not?"

"No."

"Really?"

"No."

"Well— neither are you."

"Really?"

"Really."

Smiles broke over both their faces and they looked like they'd had heavy loads lifted from their shoulders. It appeared to be only a matter of time before they started dancing and singing about daffodils and sunshine and then Masque said, "You are short though."

Abruptly, Random scowled. "So? You're— tall."

"You have an upturned nose."

"You have funky eyebrows."

"You have crooked teeth."

"Your hairline is receding."

"It is not!" roared Masque. "And anyway yours is too long!"

"Only because I don't cut it!"

"Flower child!"

"Eurotrash!"

There was a slight pause, and then they both shouted, "And you have full, pouty lips!" and then lapsed into an angry silence that was thoroughly enjoyed by everyone else, as this was the first time that that particular phrase has been used as an insult. Chaos ensued amidst the hilarity, which is good, because it meant that everything was back to normal.

**Initiation Ceremony**

As the Eriks attempted in vain to get Leroux Erik to sing for the Writers, Patrick Raoul strutted up to them, flipping his ponytail around and, accidentally, smacking Gerry Phantom in the face with it.

"Come, come, the Writers ask for one thing— and you can't even give it to them? OW!"

Gerry Phantom put the knife back in his pocket and brandished the ponytail. Patrick Raoul looked shocked.

"I've been dying to do that for a very very long time," said Gerry Phantom. Patrick Raoul stared at him in utter and absolute outrage for two seconds, and then began to sob.

"Waaaaaaa—"

The Eriks just looked at him in disgust, but this didn't deter him from going on to falling to the ground and rolling around on his back, pounding the flagstones with his fists.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—"

"Good lord," said Kay Erik, looking down at him. He glanced up at Gerry Phantom. "Did you know that would happen?"

"No," said Gerry Phantom, who looked like he was in shock. "All I did was cut his ponytail off."

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—"

Kay Erik sighed testily. "You might have let me do it, at least. I could have made it so he didn't notice for a while. Now you've made him cry. And," he added, "he doesn't appear to be stopping anytime soon. Now look here, young man—" He loomed over Patrick Raoul and blazed his eyes at him. "Look here. If you don't stop this ridiculous whinging right this instant, I'm going to lock you into the bedroom with The Maiden Amorisa again."

The Maiden Amorisa popped her head out of the huddle of Writers and sang, "He knows my name!"

Patrick Raoul stared at Kay Erik for a second, and then went, "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—" with renewed vigor.

"That's it," said Kay Erik. "I haven't the patience for this. Someone bundle this mewling child up and bung him into a cupboard somewhere."

"Why not just kill him," suggested letthedreamdescend.

There was a pause.

"I suppose we might as well—" said Kay Erik doubtfully.

Gerry Phantom shrugged a little. "Well—"

"Well," echoed Crawford Phantom, thoughtfully. "But— this one is the last Raoul. And— he's so harmless. It just doesn't seem— sporting somehow."

"We could turn him loose in a jungle and issue you four with guns," suggested the Singing Fox Demon.

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Besides," said Gerry Phantom, "I need him to take care of Emmy Christine's babies. Because— they're certainly not mine. No, sir. Its not like I've got money to pay for three college tuitions."

There were half-hearted murmurs of agreement from the others. Celtic Heart stood up.

"I think what you all are really trying to say," she said, "is that, though of course you want to kill Raoul, because he is your mortal enemy and stands for everything you loathe, is that there is no good story without conflict. And if you kill him off, then— there won't be any conflict, for you. You'll have no one to fight for or against. You'll have no light to your darkness. There won't be anyone for people to write slash epics about. Basically, you have a hangup over killing this final fop, and things would be much easier and happier if someone would just take care of it for you."

"Done," called Stalker Erik, nudging Patrick Raoul's body into the lake with his foot and a quiet splash.

The Eriks turned to face him, relief visible in their eyes. Stalker Erik braced himself, stood tall and impatiently flicked dark hair out of his eyes, blinking a lot and not looking particularly brave or accomplished.

Leroux Erik spoke first. "The final fop," he said, quietly, intensely, swoon-inducingly. "The final fop— is dead."

"Yes, well," said Stalker Erik, coughed slightly, and then switched to French and repeated Leroux Erik's words in his own best quiet, intense, swoon-inducing voice, which he did surprisingly well.

The emotion in Leroux Erik's eyes was enormous, a torrent of feeling. "It is as it should be— as it should have been." Striding forward, he touched his fingers to Stalker Erik's forehead in a gesture of acceptance, and then swept him a bow. Stalker Erik, stunned, unsure, and thinking vaguely what a lot of action his forehead had been getting lately, bowed back, shakily.

"Well," said Kay Erik quietly, "it would appear that we have to show you the Initiation Ritual after all."

It took place in the bedroom. Most things of note do.

Stalker Erik seated himself on the bed and bounced a little, looking nervously from one Erik to another. They stood silent, their arms folded, their faces, what he could see of them, forbidding.

"What must I do?" asked Stalker Erik, and then cursed himself for sounding like Frodo Baggins.

"You must learn—" said Kay Erik.

"Yes?" said Stalker Erik apprehensively.

Kay Erik unfolded his arms and stuck a hand out at him. "The well kept secret of generations," he intoned.

Stalker Erik blinked.

"Y—es?"

"Take my hand."

He did so.

Some rather odd, college-fraternity-like things happened next, Stalker Erik had the strange sensation that he had a hand coming out of his left ear, and then they were back to their first positions. Stalker Erik had the horrifying feeling that, whatever they asked him to do, he was going to fail, and fail miserably.

"Now do that," said Kay Erik, "to Crawford Phantom."

Stalker Erik pushed himself off the bed and stood tall._ Be a man. Be an Erik. Be— the hand._

With only a little fumbling, he executed the triple turns, the flogging-motion, the slow-mo applause, the snapping of the fingers, the macarena, the sticking the fingers up the nose, the sliding the whole arm through one ear and out the other, and the slapping Crawford Phantom's face, and was back where he had started, panting and immensely surprised at himself.

There was a long pause.

"It is good," said Leroux Erik. "You have learned the secret handshake well."

"Have I?" said Stalker Erik. "Oh good."

"You are now— an Erik."

He resisted the impulse to tell them that, as far as he knew, he had always been one, and accepted the pristine white half-mask that they presented him with.

Upon opening the door, he received a wave of applause like none he'd ever gotten before. The Writers stood and greeted the arrival of a new Erik with all the excitement, appreciation, and half-hidden lust that they had for the old ones. Stalker Erik smiled and ducked his head, and traced his fingers around the edges of the mask.

He put it to his face.

He frowned.

He said, "Hey, how do you get this thing to stay on?"

And as we allow our viewpoints to drift lazily above the not-so-crowded lair, leaving a frustrated New Erik trying to figure out how to hide his face, we see the minions looking down and giggling, the PR Agent on the phone with a publisher, the pretend-husband grinning at his phictional alter ego finally being accepted, and a writer throwing her pencil out the window, putting her feet on the table, and begging for a back massage.

Because now at last we have reached the final ending of the story.

And now all that's left is the After Party.

**A/N: Well, and two or three other chapters, but its considerably less dramatic when you say that, don't you think?**


	19. Extras 5: Interview With the Writers

**A/N: You will be interested, or possibly not interested, to know that most of what the Writers say in the interviews, they actually really said when I interviewed them. Isn't that strange how that works?**

**Interviews With The Writers**

_Our intrepid reporter braves the world of the REAL people of WLIIA._

_It isn't easy to gather several phic characters under one roof, especially when they're these particular ones. Just off the set of Whose Lair Is It Anyway, and flushed with success, this reporter sat down with Hoshi, Adison, Jackie, Le Chat, the Maiden Amorisa, Stalker Erik, Killthefop, Celtic Heart, Sparklyscorpion, and Random Battlecry._

The room wherein they sit is large and square, white walls splashed with tomato sauce from a thousand lunches. It isn't immediately apparent why Random Battlecry chose the school auditorium as the meeting place, and it continues not to be apparent throughout the rest of the interview. Random herself, nearly twenty, a small and energetic young woman with sleepy eyes and a fanged smile, was pounding away on the piano when this reporter arrived. It quickly became obvious that providing them with various forms of caffeine was not a good idea. The Maiden Amorisa was bouncing off the walls, Hoshi was drawing on the floor, Killthefop was braiding a punjab, and the rest of them were alternately playing cards at a table, or hiding underneath it, where Stalker Erik was sharing his world's-end theories for five bucks apiece.

"Its nice we all get along so well," said Random confidentially, as she passed on her way to the drinks table with a contemplative smile. Jackie volunteered to take a bit more time, accompanied by Le Chat.

"Yeah, I wasn't too sure about this thing when it all started," says Jackie. "I mean, its kind of— odd, you know? Not something you'd immediately think about."

"Which is good," called Random from across the room, "otherwise there'd have been tons of phics like mine and nobody would have bothered to read it, much less be in it."

"Yeah, anyway," said Jackie immediately, "I came in on the tail end of it. She already had nearly forty people, I think, who wanted in, or were in. I was glad I was in it— though, of course, I mean, I would have loved a bigger part— but you work with what you're offered, you know."

"Exactly," said Le Chat. "I mean, I wasn't expecting a huge lot of dialogue or anything— I would have appreciated a little more character development, but—" She gave a disgruntled shrug. "There you have it."

"Yeah," said Jackie, nodding.

When asked what their favourite things were about the phic, they both threw back their heads and laughed.

"I don't know. Did Random tell you to ask this?"

"I'll bet she did," said Le Chat. "She did, didn't she?"

"I really liked all the parts with the sing-off between Gerry Phantom and Crawford Phantom," said Jackie. "I know its kind of prosaic. But I really did."

"And I liked the muffin business," said Le Chat thoughtfully. "And, you know, the part where Gerry's giving piggy back rides." She giggled. "I was first in line, you know."

The Maiden Amorisa finally stopped bouncing off the walls and bounced in their direction, trying to braid her hair. She arrived in time to hear this reporter say , "So what didn't you like about the phic?" and answered immediately.

"What didn't I like? I didn't like that I couldn't (bleep)ing make Stalker Erik (bleep)ing (bleep) the (bleep)ing (bleep)! That really (bleep)ed me off!"

"Thank you, Maiden Amorisa," called Random, venturing towards them.

"You're (bleep)ing welcome."

Random gave this reporter a smile. "She's still a little bitter, I believe."

" I can't believe she (bleep)ing killed me, man! The (bleep)er, I was totally (bleep)ed!"

Random winced. "You know I'm just going to go back and bleep all this out, right?"

"(Bleep) you, you (bleep)ing (bleep)er."

"Sausages," said Random, rudely.

"(Bleep)!"

"(Bleeeeeeeep)!" shouted Stalker Erik from underneath the table.

"If I didn't know better," muttered Hoshi to Adison, "I'd say she was going through menopause or something."

"What do you mean, 'know better.'"

"I mean I know if I said it, I'd get killed."

"She's really a very sweet girl," said Le Chat, giving The Maiden Amorisa a hug.

Upon being asked where the rest of the Writers were, Random quickly explained, "Well, Maria— your name is Maria, isn't it?"

"Er, no," said this reporter truthfully. "It's, uh, David, actually."

Random stared at this reporter for a moment. "David? My assistant clearly told me that your name was Maria." Off in the distance there was some cackling laughter, presumably from the assistant. "Well, do you mind being renamed Maria? Its just that my mind is still in rehab from writing the phic, and won't be back for another two weeks, so I can't possibly assimilate any new information before then."

"Er—"

"Thank you Maria, I knew I could count on you. Anyway, as I was saying, there's over fifty writers in the phic, you know. I just didn't think I could handle them all at once, in a concentrated setting like an interview. Plus I'm writing for you as well. I mean, this really is me writing all this, you know."

"Is it?" asked Hoshi with a frown.

"Yes. Its still a phic— I'm the writer— you're a phictionalized version of a real person."

"Oh." Hoshi thought about this and then waved in the general direction of the computer screen. "Hi, real Hoshi! How's things!"

"Yeah, that's right," said Celtic Heart. "Hello, real Celtic Heart!"

"Hello, real Adison," said Adison, "you cool, snarky thing, you."

"Hello, real Random," said Random, before she could stop herself. She clapped a hand to her forehead. "Psycho. I'm a psycho. Look, I told you it'd be too much to handle."

"Really," said this reporter, frowning. "And you say— you're actually writing this."

"Yes."

"Does that mean I don't have to worry about my deadline?"

"What?"

"Well, if I'm not real, then—"

"Just what I wanted," said Random. "An existentialist reporter. Of course you have to worry about your deadline. I said I'd get this chapter up on time."

"But—"

"Don't argue with me, you badly-written fictional character!" She stomped her foot and stared at the ground, trying to get her breathing back under control. "Look, I'm sorry, I don't mean to fly off the handle like that. But— I've been under a lot of stress, see—"

"So have I," said The Maiden Amorisa. "What with, you know, being killed and all."

"Look, I apologized about that over and over! Anyway it wasn't technically me that did it. It was Stalker Erik."

"Not technically maybe, but we all know who was behind it. You're just jealous 'cause I was his fake wife first."

"Jealous? Jealous over the stalker? Jealous? Me, jealous? Jealous? Me? Look, I had a point when I started this paragraph, but its escaped me at present."

"Jealous?" supplied Stalker Erik from underneath the table. "Why would she be jealous over someone like me? I'm not exactly Gerry Phantom, you know."

Random heaved a sigh. "There he goes again. Excuse me while I look for a wall to bang my head against will you?" Instead she wandered off to try, not for the first time, to convince Stalker Erik that he did, in fact, look just this side of Richard Roxburgh. It was slow going.

"She's jealous," confided The Maiden Amorisa.

"Shall we talk about something else?" said Celtic Heart brightly.

"Muffin?" offered Adison, causing Killthefop to make a keep-away-from-me-evil-one gesture with her fingers.

"Honestly? Random went a bit overboard with the muffin thing. I mean, it was okay for a joke once or twice. But now, its like, she lives muffins. She eats sleeps and breathes muffins. It can't be healthy. Frankly I don't think she's quite all there."

"Really?" snorted Le Chat. "Did you just figure this out?"

"She's pretty good about putting in parts that we like though," said sparklyscorpion.

"Yeah, for you maybe. I still don't understand why you got your Erik and nobody else really got theirs," said Jackie, frowning.

"Probably because I kept begging her," said sparklyscorpion. "And I guess not a lot of people wanted the slasher Phantom. Though I don't know why." She shivered pleasantly. "He's just so—"

The conversation under the table was growing louder.

"Look," said Random firmly, "nobody would think you were egotistical if you admitted that you weren't ugly. You have to start somewhere. I mean, I don't go around calling myself cute all the time. In fact I never do. Okay, so that's not technically true, but reality seriously undermines my argument, and so I'm going to ignore it. The point is— look, I've forgotten what the point is, but it was a bloody good one, you can be sure of that."

"Alright," said Stalker Erik quietly.

"Say it."

"I am not ugly."

"Louder."

"I am not ugly."

"More enthusiastic phrasing."

"I am not entirely unattractive."

"Not good enough."

"I am a sexy beast."

"Thank you."

"But still a beast nonetheless."

Random sighed. "Well— like I said, you have to start somewhere." Shaking her head at him, she stood back up. Unfortunately she neglected to move out from under the table first, and so struck her head quite hard on the underside of it. She stood and swayed for a moment.

"Look," she said thickly, pointing a wavering finger at everyone, "I don't want to hear any more of this I'm-no-Gerry-Phantom type stuff from any of you, alright? I mean, whatever happened to the blessed anonymity of the Internet? Nobody has to know what you look like. Lie if you want to. I could say that I'm a rather short Catherine Zeta-Jones mixed with a little Natalie Portman and Pamela Anderson's figure. Who would know the difference? Nobody, if I hadn't been so stupid as to put my picture on my website. Is any of this making sense to you all? I'm seeing double. That can't be good."

She frowned at the room in general, and then turned to Stalker Erik, who had crawled from underneath the table, looking like a beaten and defeated man. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a few breadsticks short of a basket."

"Breadsticks!" guffawed Killthefop.

"That's not funny!" roared Random. "Only muffins are funny! No other bakery items are allowed to be laughed at!"

"Oh dear," sighed Adison. "Did someone forget to give her her pills again?"

Eventually, Random was hauled off, raving like a lunatic, and for a while things were a little quieter in the auditorium, and the interview advanced.

The next question to be asked was a rather prosaic one, and yet it still didn't fit in.

"If you were an animal, what would you be?" asked this reporter.

Hoshi took offense at this. "Why are these always in questionnaires? How come you can't ask me what kind of fire extinguisher I would be? Huh? Huh?"

"Alright— what kind of fire extinguisher would you be?"

"A small red one."

"Alright— and you?"

"A large red one," said Stalker Erik, defiantly. "And if I was an animal— a panther. Or a llama."

"I'd be a hyperactive chipmunk," said Killthefop.

"Moving on," said this reporter, shifting uncomfortably under the baleful look that Stalker Erik was giving him, "some interesting things about you."

"Who, me?" said Jackie. "Well— I write trashy romance novels."

The Maiden Amorisa sat up. "Really? That's funny, I _read_ trashy romance novels!"

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Oh."

"Huh."

"I," said Le Chat, "go by Le Chat and am trying to seduce my harem master, resulting in a felonious case of bestiality."

There was a small moment of silence.

"But I digress," said Le Chat. "I dance professionally and I've been in three operas."

"I had ponies," said Adison, with a shrug. "What? Ponies are interesting!"

"I'm the uncontended Queen of Typos," put in Hoshi. "I mean, I'd tell you some of my stories, but its really funnier if I just— look, they're embarrassing, okay?"

"I can play almost any stringed instrument. I am not bragging!"

"Nobody said you were, Erik."

"Well, they'd just better not!"

"They didn't."

"Well, they shouldn't!"

"They won't."

"Good!"

"Anything else?"

"I, uh, have a harem."

Another small pause, and then this reporter said, "Well, we have time for one more question, and seeing as Random is out of the room, this seems like a good time to ask— what don't you like about her?"

"She thinks she's the god of comedy," said Le Chat, "able to give life to herself, kill herself, resurrect herself, and snog Gerry Phantom. What a (bleep)in' ego!"

"Carrot cake," said Adison seriously. "Carrot cake. _Carrot cake_! As if!"

"Cheese," said Hoshi. "The boss— is cheese."

"Stalker Erik likes me better than her," said Killthefop smugly. "I think. I mean, we were having a conversation about being carried off, and he carried me off first. I won't mention that after he carried me off all we did has have dinner, and it wasn't even a good dinner, it was chicken tacos and he burnt the chicken— wait, didn't I just say I wasn't going to mention that? Look, I didn't say that, alright? Never mind. Forget I said anything. In fact, I didn't say anything. Who, me? But, yeah, he likes me better than her. Nyeh, nyeh."

"I didn't realize you spoke Russian," said Jackie, looking confused.

"Random ain't a good harem wife," said The Maiden Amorisa, folding her arms and dragging her eyes away from Stalker Erik. "She's only in it for the money."

"Which is kind of— stupid, if you think about it," said Adison. "Since they're only pretend-married anyway. I mean, what do you get from a pretend-divorce? Half of the pretend-assets?"

"Monopoly money," said Stalker Erik, suddenly in a less fatalistic mood and inventing things with wild abandon and a small smile. "I'll give her all I've got. It isn't much."

"What about me?" said The Maiden Amorisa huffily. Stalker Erik eyed her.

"Hon, if you would divorce me, I'd give you all I could get my hands on."

"Thank you," said The Maiden Amorisa, taking the comment at face value and immensely pleased with it.

"And what do you have to say about Ms. Battlecry, monsieur?" asked this reporter.

Stalker Erik glared at this reporter balefully and flicked dark hair out of his eyes. Stalker Erik's eyes, that is, not this reporter's eyes. That would have been rather an invasion of this reporter's personal space. "Don't patronize me by calling me monsieur."

"Patronize you? I worship you, man! You're an inspiration to guys like me everywhere!"

"Why?" Stalker Erik demanded.

"Dude, you have a harem!" said this reporter, before gaining control of himself and sitting up straight. Stalker Erik stared for a moment longer, then returned to the question.

"I don't know. She's good with them forehead kisses," said Stalker Erik with a shrug. This comment caused chaos to ensue.

"Hey!" squealed The Maiden Amorisa. "I tried to give you forehead kisses, you said they belonged to Random! How are you going to have a chance to compare if you won't make her share your forehead?"

"Exactly what I was going to say," said Le Chat, "except in a slightly lower register."

There followed a discussion on comparing forehead kisses to other-place kisses, whilst Stalker Erik sat and soaked in the attention. Eventually a fistfight was begun, but more as a diversion than anything. Random was brought back, heavily sedated, drooling slightly, and wearing an enormous Monty Python t-shirt. Her attendants seated her in a comfy chair and left her to Stalker Erik's capable hands. He sat by her and sang to her and laughed to himself at the still-wrangling writers.

Random suddenly seemed to wake up out of her medication-induced funk, turned to Stalker Erik, and said, "We should probably work on the sequel now."

A lot of other things happened, but this reporter is now laughing too hard to type.


	20. Extras 6: The After Party

**lazy.kender: **no, it ends. Soon.

**Ludivine**: Fine, fine, you're in. But_ keep_ the muffins.

**Musique et Amour**: (stares at him for a minute) ...splendiferous? Never in my life would I call Gerry Phantom "splendiferous." So, running the risk of offending you by giving you ambiguous compliments, perhaps you win on that front?

**DarkPriestessofAssimbya:** No, TMA didn't want to be killed. I took her life in my hands, so to speak. And I forgot to reply to you last time that, yes, I love LOTR. Especially Pippin. And it was the start of my crush on David Wenham— I have two LOTR fics and about five Van Helsing ones, if that gives you any indication. Feel free to check them out! Feel free-er to review them!

**Baffled Seraph:** Why, thank you!

**Dimac99**: Hmm... Gerry in a yellow towel... you know, if it had been Kay Erik I would have taken you up on that?

**Melissa Brandybuck**: That was— entertaining. Thank you.

**LuvinLivnReadn**: Sequel, what there is of it, is on PPN: poto phans (dot) net.

**L'ange d'Erik**: Well,_ I _had fun. You'll have to ask the writers themselves.

**La Foamy**: I know! I squeeee for my reviewers!

**mithril2014**: Um— nope!

**The Maiden Amorisa:** Okay, so now you owe _me_, right?

**ElfLover**: Everybody's at the after party. Even the dead people, which is why you should be careful where you put your hand when you're dancing. Just some friendly advice—

**Last Chapter: The After Party**

There should be an after party for everything, including life. Unfortunately, there isn't, but there is at least an after party for _Whose Lair Is It Anyway? _And its attended by everyone who is anyone, and quite a few people who are not.

It took some convincing by their agents, but finally the Eriks condescended to go and mingle for a few moments, provided there was plenty to drink. Of course once they got there they were swamped with reporters, and phans, and reporters who were phans, and phans who were reporters, which covers most but not all of the people they were swamped by.

The Writers were there as well, basking in their new-found celebrity status. The Reviewers went around autograph-begging. Copious amounts of alcohol were being consumed, and it was only seven in the evening. The DJ hadn't even started playing music yet. Rooklyn mentioned as much to ChristineX.

"The DJ hasn't even started playing music yet," she said.

"Oh? I didn't notice."

Reporters circled the crowd like hungry animals, albeit hungry animals with pencils and notebooks. _"Whose Lair_" had unexpectedly been the hit of the year, and was attracting a lot of attention, although not, to Random's regret, that of any publishing houses.

The Eriks had gathered early, pushed in by their agents, trapped into tuxedos and, despite the fact that they wore evening wear almost exclusively, looking uncomfortable. The Writers came in a variety of styles, ranging from Hoshi, who had managed to secure the last little black dress left in Hollywood, to Scarlet Red Rose who had borrowed her brother's Toledo Squirrels mascot outfit, to Stalker Erik who was looking tall, dignified, and rather pale in a pitch-black tuxedo with long tails that, he said, did wonders for his complexion. There was a lot of milling around complimenting each other on their performances, and then a great deal of discussion on the subject of clothes, led by Mandy the O, who was clearly in her element. Jackie and YoukoElfMaiden went off to tip the limo drivers, Le Chat kicked the bartender out of the way and renamed the place "Erik's Other Fuzzy Navel," and the business of drinking hot chocolate and dancing was gotten underway.

Random herself showed up on a horse. For a while everyone thought that it was just a stylish entrance, but then she started telling people it was because her battered black Volvo wouldn't start. Again. This led to a tangent in which she bemoaned the fact that she paid her brother twice what the stupid car was worth, and from which she was distracted only by a reporter asking her who she was wearing.

She looked at the reporter, and then looked at Hoshi and Adison.

"Clothes have names?"

"She means who made it," said Hoshi helpfully.

"Ah." She turned her gaze back to the reporter. She seemed to be practicing her version of Kay Erik's baleful stare and, despite being a small and generally unimposing young woman, was getting quite good at it. "I don't know. I bought it in a thrift shop. Do you want to check the tag? I'm sure its still on here somewhere." The reporter hurried away and Random chuckled to herself.

"Did you really buy that in a thrift shop?" asked Adison.

"No."

"Really."

"I made it." She twirled solemnly. It was a black dress, short-sleeved, fell halfway to her calves, where old-fashioned buttoned boots took over. Her hair had been convinced to wave, and rippled down to the backs of her knees smoothly, though it was sure to be tangled within the next two minutes. Her skin was still winter-pale, there was a conspicuous lack of makeup, and she looked slightly ethereal and more grown-up than she ever had before. She betrayed this illusion immediately by spying Stalker Erik and giving him a sisterly punch on the shoulder.

"Ow," he said.

"You owe me a dance, at some point," she told him. "Don't forget." Spotting Gerry Phantom in the distance, she went off to claim a hello kiss. Quite a few of the Writers in attendance had done this same thing. Several times.

Kay Erik found himself presiding over a group of businessmen who had volunteered, rather late in the game, to be the financial backers of "Whose Lair." Mostly they were drinking champagne and chortling over how much Random owed them. One of them had the audacity to strike Kay Erik on the back in an overly friendly manner.

"Good show, eh?" he said gleefully. "Money to be made here— money money money."

Kay Erik did the baleful at him.

"I so hate you all," he said. That was as much warning as he gave them. Soon after, the businessmen had been artfully punjabbed, and Kay Erik had unwittingly done Random a tremendous favor, as it meant that she now didn't have to pay anyone back.

Crawford Phantom had found a microphone and was spontaneously recording a new CD with Britney Spears, leading to some serious outcry when the public found out. He redeemed himself, partially, by unapologetically punjabbing her. Based simply on these two examples, punjabbing someone would appear to be the best way to get yourself out of trouble.

Leroux Erik holed himself up in a corner for a bit and composed a song of such beauty that any human would die of hearing it. With a wicked grin beneath the mask, he went to try it out on some of his more annoying phangirls.

A good thing about a party where most of the men are musical geniuses is that everyone knows how to dance. Le Chat waltzed past clutched tightly in the arms of her beloved harem mater.

"Good kitty, kitty, kitty," murmured Stalker Erik to her, scratching her behind the ears. Le Chat made an aborted purring attempt and said, "Mmmm," instead.

"Harem master, you like me better than Random, right?"

"Of course, my dear," said Stalker Erik. "You are my absolute favourite."

The waltz changed abruptly to the Squirrel Nut Zippers because Random threatened the DJ. A few seconds later she was swinging with Leroux Erik.

"Oh, sure," she called in answer to someone's question, "My clothes smell of death for days afterwards. But its worth it— he's got great rhythm!"

Kay Erik, having killed all the businessmen, found himself forced to dance with several of his phangirls, first Mandy, then Ludivine, then more and more— he dealt with this by adopting a bored expression, replying in monosyllables, and trying to hypnotize them with his eyes. For the most part, it worked, but had the unlooked-for result of, instead of making them want to go sleep it off, making them clumsy dancers who stepped on his feet and held his shoulders rather too tightly. Whilst the Kay phangirls were waiting in line, several of them got up a can-can routine. They were quite good at it, and provided much-needed entertainment, especially when Celtic Heart tripped over her own feet and fell against Killthefop, who fell against VictoriaTai, leading to a domino effect and a heap of phangirls on the floor, groaning. However, not even this, it seemed, could pull Kay Erik out of his bad mood.

The Maiden Amorisa had browbeaten Stalker Erik into trying to do the tango. It was entirely the wrong song for a tango, but she insisted nonetheless.

"Fun, isn't it?"

"It'd be funner if you didn't keep stepping on my feet."

She laughed. "You're so _funny_."

"Not on purpose," said Stalker Erik with a grunt.

"Hubby, you like me better than Random, don't you? After all, I was your first wife."

"Of course," he replied out of a misplaced sense of gallantry. She squealed with delight and tried to stick her tongue in his ear but he stomped on her foot just in time to distract her.

Several phangirls were trying to dance with Gerry Phantom at once. Crawford Phantom, who was making the rounds with wine glass in hand, stopped to watch.

"Help me, man!" said Gerry Phantom to him, trying to detach Willow Rose's arms from around his neck.

"What would you wish me to do?" asked Crawford Phantom.

"Tell me what to do to get them to stop choking me! Or at least to leave my trousers alone!"

"I would suggest," said Crawford Phantom coolly, "that you distract them with some type of game."

"Like what?"

"Girls!" said Crawford Phantom loudly, clapping his hands. "Girls! May I have your attention, please?" The attention duly gotten, he went on to outline his idea. "There are far too many of you. Gerry Phantom could never give each of you the attention you truly deserve. Perhaps you could all stand in a circle around him— that's it, a nice neat circle— and now Gerry Phantom will close his eyes— close your eyes, monsieur— and I will spin him about, and now that he is sufficiently dizzy and disoriented— please do not vomit on my waistcoat, monsieur— he will keep his eyes closed, and pick one of you, and that one will dance with him for the next song. Alright? Alright. Its all good. Go to it."

"I don't know—" said Gerry Phantom, still looking slightly sick, walking around with his eyes closed and fingers twitching. "Is this a good idea?"

"Of course it is," said Crawford Phantom. "All my ideas are good ideas."

"But suppose I end up with the Maiden Amorisa or something? She tried to take my shirt off last time, you know."

"Currently, she is attempting that same trick on the one they call the stalker, monsieur, so I would wager she will be preoccupied for a good while yet."

"But—"

"You try my patience!" snapped Crawford Phantom. "Make your choice!"

"Fine," said Gerry Phantom with a sigh, turned around once more, reached out and grabbed hold of an arm. "I found someone." He opened his eyes and looked into the face of Crawford Phantom, who looked distinctly peeved.

"Obviously, we will have to do it again," he said.

"No, don't make me close my eyes again!"

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid of the dark!"

"A Phantom is afraid of the dark?"

"Look, we all have issues—"

"Dance!" The chant started in the midst of the phangirls who stood watching them. "Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!"

"You called?" said Charles Dance alertly, and was beaten into submission.

Gerry Phantom looked at Crawford Phantom and shrugged. Crawford Phantom looked at Gerry Phantom and snarled.

"May I have this—"

"Hold my wineglass," Crawford Phantom ordered YoukoElfMaiden, and the two Phantoms walked onto the dance floor. "And don't think that this means I like you, because I don't."

There was some confusion from the very beginning, but it was mostly sorted out by the time they both yelled, "_Stop trying to lead_!"

Some minutes later the party was crashed by a pretend viscount in a waistcoat and a Speedo with musical notes on the crotch, but this is an inside joke and should be ignored by everyone who doesn't get it. Take it as read that Stalker Erik lost his temper, took the young man outside, and beat the crap out of him.

Random, meanwhile, was ignoring the fact that she was too young to drink, and ignoring it rather badly. She finally had to be pried away from the champagne bottle, given some black coffee, and slapped around a bit before she stopped giggling.

"How do you feel?" asked Ludivine.

"A bit maudlin and sentimental," she admitted, sobering slightly.

"No, I mean— physically."

"That's a rather personal question, isn't it?" asked Random with an outraged glare.

Ludivine, wisely, gave up.

"I can't believe this is over," Random said. "All these chapters— all these weeks— all those reviews— those lovely reviews— those lovely, lovely reviews—"

"Snap out of it," said Adison harshly. "The press is beginning to take notice."

Random sobered abruptly and shook herself. "Right. I just— depression. Sorry. Happens every time I finish a story."

"Well then maybe," said Hoshi, "you shouldn't write."

Random stared intensely at her.

"What a fantastic idea."

The party was swinging, the room full of noise and action, sparklyscorpion danced by in a tight clinch with Erik Destler, Mandy was now being effectively wooed by Gerry Phantom, and Random pulled her pen out of nowhere and, symbolically, dropped it.

Instantly the room winked out of existence and all there was left was a blank space on the page.

At least there would be if Fan Fiction dot net wasn't against that sort of thing.

Then the small and forlorn voice of Hoshi came, like a ghost's echo.

"I didn't mean _now_."

"Sorry," said Random. "Sorry guys." The pen was picked back up and the party went on. Stalker Erik came back inside from beating up the pretend viscount, and was accosted by five of his harem girls, who all wanted to dance with him at once. He managed his way out of this by asking them if they minded terribly doing the macarena.

And as they all danced the macarena, the harem girls said, "Stalker Erik, you like us better than Random, right?"

And Stalker Erik said, smoothly, "Of course I do, darlin'."

"Oh good," chorused the harem girls.

"Ai, macarena!" said Stalker Erik, who was enjoying it far too much for a grown man.

Random was attempting to explain some of the finer points of the WLIIA legend to Killthefop, Willow Rose, and MetaChi.

"I had this revelation, you see. One day I was typing, typing, typing, and suddenly it struck me that all the Eriks that ever were should all be stuck in a lair together for no particular reason. Of course the idea was insane, as there were far too many Eriks to truly do them all justice, and I think it was the very insanity of the idea that appealed to me. It usually is. I mean, I wrote "True Saga of Weak Willed Christine" on a lark, you know. There was no plot, no intention there at all. I just sat down and wrote the first chapter. That's how it was with this one. I had a notebook, and I was stuck at Starbucks, and I started off with Leroux Erik because he's my favourite. And the whole beginning didn't make me laugh at all. I didn't think it was funny." She frowned into her paper cup. "I'm glad somebody did. Otherwise I never would have finished it."

"Yes," said MetaChi, "but why muffins?"

"Because breadsticks were already taken," said Random, gesturing at Killthefop, who smiled and brandished her stale breadstick meaningfully.

"Why," said Willow Rose, "do you call her Real Christine instead of Leroux Christine?"

Random frowned in thought. "Well— I just _did_, the first time, and after that— force of habit?"

"Okay, then, why was Leroux Erik not named first in the credits?"

"That was a silly error on my part," said Random abashedly. "Though now that I think about it, have you ever heard of an intelligent error? Perhaps calling it silly is just kind of redundant. Like, I don't know, getting married and getting divorced and getting married to the same person and getting divorced again. That's actually happened to someone that I know, you know. I can't explain it, but—"

"Why wasn't I in the credits?" called Celtic Heart, who was now doing the salsa with her head rested provocatively just underneath Stalker Erik's throat. Every time they did a more athletic step her forehead banged painfully into his Adam's apple and he was seriously considering begging and pleading with her to step just a _bit _away.

Random glanced at them, saw the Adam's apple dilemma, and smiled. "I'm going to have to revise the credits, I suppose," she said. "Apparently I missed a bunch of you. I don't know. I was multi-tasking. You know about that, don't you, CH?"

"Yes," said Celtic Heart, "I am the queen of it." She proved it by simultaneously kicking Stalker Erik in the knee and giving him a bruise on the throat. Her attention gotten by the choking noises he was making, she smiled up at him.

"Stalker Erik, you like me better than Random, don't you?"

"Course," Stalker Erik managed to wheeze.

"I thought so."

Adison marched up to Random and handed her another large cup of coffee. "Refill?"

"Thank you."

"There's a boy on the phone for you. He says he's been pining after you for two years and was too shy to say anything until you got rich and famous."

Random thought for a moment. "Ambrose?" she said, and went to pick up the phone. Adison shrugged at the rest of the Writers who were gathered there, and went to rescue Stalker Erik's throat. She'd already had her dances, with all four Main Eriks and a rather sweet slow-dance with Patrick Raoul, and was ready to handle her beta and pretend-husband, who was coughing now and clawing at his throat.

"Is there a problem?" asked Celtic Heart worriedly as she watched him slowly collapse to the floor.

"Not at all—" wheezed Stalker Erik from her feet.

Adison patted Celtic Heart on the shoulder. "I'll take it from here." She extended her hand and assisted the coughing, hacking stalker back to his feet. "The excitement too much for you?"

He gagged slightly and regained his breath, managing to give her a smile.

"Dance with me?"

"For you, anything."

They danced. After a moment Stalker Erik ventured, "Er— Adison."

"Hmm?"

"Um— normally when you dance you don't immediately put your hand on the other person's butt. Usually you wait for a while."

"Oh. Sorry. I never took dancing lessons."

"That's alright."

"Okay."

They danced on.

"Adison."

"Yes?"

"I meant, could you please remove it?"

"Oh, sure. Yeah. Didn't get that."

"Alright."

"Stalker Erik, you like me better than Random, right?"

"Of course," said Stalker Erik, this time with a hint of sincerity. "I'm your beta, aren't I? I'm certainly not Random's beta."

"That's right, you're not," said Adison, and nestled her face into his shoulder.

Random had finally convinced the Boy on the Phone that no amount of money could make her go out with him, and she didn't particularly care if he committed suicide, and returned to the party flushed with victory to find the Main Eriks waiting for her. She stepped into the group and gave them all a fond smile.

"Mademoiselle Random," said Crawford Phantom, and they all gave her a bow. She bowed back.

"Sorry," she said, "curtsies haven't come all that easily to me since that time my costume fell half off and I accidentally flashed people on national television during the dance recital."

The Eriks stood and blinked at her for a moment. She was used to this reaction, kept the smile and raised her eyebrows and waited for them to recover.

"We, er, want to thank you for using us in the story," said Gerry Phantom finally, frowning slightly.

"It was fun, wasn't it?" she said happily.

There was a long pause.

"No," said Kay Erik. "But it was interesting."

"And at our age," put in Crawford Phantom, "interesting is nearly all we can hope for."

Random took this as high praise, which it was, considering who it came from. Without asking permission she hugged them one by one, Leroux Erik the longest.

"Remember you said you'd come by and help us all with our phics."

"I remember we said we'd consider it," said Kay Erik.

"Perhaps," said Crawford Phantom.

"I'll have to check my schedule," said Gerry Phantom.

"I'll be there," said Leroux Erik, but Random didn't understand that much French. Her smile faded a little as she looked at them.

"Well— I suppose it's the effort that counts, correct?"

"Looking back on all those chapters," said Kay Erik drily, "it had better be."

"I am sorry its over," said Random sincerely.

"I am not," said Kay Erik, and turned to go. The other Eriks followed him, not bothering to say farewell to any of the others, and so it was only Random who watched them disappear out the door, and only Random who noticed the crowd turned once more into a Phantom-less mass of fictionalized humanity.

The music was getting quieter, the floor was getting emptier, and Random claimed a pained and irritated Stalker Erik for the last dance.

"Please," he said in what was almost a whimper. "Please, please, I beg of you, for the love of all that is holy, don't step on my feet."

"I won't," said Random, mildly surprised.

"Promise."

"Promise."

"Thank you," he sighed, and seemed disposed not to talk any more. They danced for a few moments in silence, listening to the music.

Then Random said, "Erik."

"Hm?"

"You like all the other harem girls better than me, don't you?"

He appeared to be thinking about this.

"I'm not going to answer that question without my lawyer around on the grounds that it may incriminate me," he said finally.

"Oh, fine," said Random. "That's what I get for fishing for compliments."

There was another few precious seconds of silence and then she said, "But you do like me okay, right?"

"You make me smile," he said.

Random gave a lazy grin. "Ah good. My aim in life. Make people smile."

"Well, then, you've succeeded."

"Yes," she said musingly, "I suppose I have. And what more could I wish for?"

The music ended.

"Oh, that's right—"

"What?"

"Eternity."

* * *

**Sarah Crawford **went on to live a long and healthy life, being visited once a week by Crawford Phantom, whom she fed tea and sang duets with when the mood took them.

**Willow Rose** spent three months in jail for punjabbing an unsuspecting, pony-tailed man soon after the phic ended. However, she got out earlier than expected, getting time off for good behavior, and then went on to write a book about the experience. It was a best seller and was fifteen pages long. She now resides in Mars Colony and writes phan-phiction via satellite. Random Battlecry recently made an appearance in her phic, and was drastically misrepresented, but that's alright, because Random just loves to see her name in print.

**Mandy the O** continued to hold her title as the Queen of OW Phics for twenty more years, until she finally got over her crush on both Gerry Phantom and Kay Erik. She currently holds the title for most marshmallows fit into one nostril at a time, and she and her husband (the real one) are looking into buying a small, secluded island with the contest winnings. They're thinking, England.

**EmailyGirl **changed her name to something else that I can't remember, but continued to write truly stellar Phantom phics and was a first-runner up in the Miss Universe Competition (she lost to a girl from Betelgeuse Seven) .

**Melissa Brandybuck's **name starts with an M. And a B. And she went on to be a NBA star, an irony which never truly struck her, mostly because it isn't really all that ironic.

**The Maiden Amorisa** was brought back to life by a coven of witches and subsequently used to do their bidding until she managed to kill them, quite accidentally, by attempting to stuff muffins down their throats. Left to her own devices, she began to stalk Richard Roxburgh, and Random is pleased that no one but Stalker Erik gets this reference, because she is a perverse young woman and is often pleased by confusing the majority of her audience. Eventually, Richard Roxburgh appeared to give in, and informed The Maiden Amorisa that he was leaving his wife of five years and would go with her wherever she wanted. Upon which, The Maiden Amorisa suddenly came over all commitment-phobic and went to find some other dark-haired man to stalk.

**Mademoiselle Phantom** now makes her living as a can-can dancer in the newly-restored Moulin Rouge, where she is regularly visited by a man who looks suspiciously like Ewan McGregor. Last week she was in the news for allegedly spanking Gerard Butler.

**Phantress** entertains company on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It is best to call ahead.

**EriksAngel1870** eventually dropped the numbers from her name and went onstage as Christine in the latest Broadway production of "The Phantom of the Opera." Last week she made history by packing the 3000 seat theatre, and then also by singing like an asthmatic badger.

**bundles 'o joy** once used the F word at me. In a review. In a supposedly good way. I find this disturbing.

**ElfLover** is visited by Leroux Erik every so often. She invites him in and they have a quiet chat, most of which she can't understand because she doesn't speak French, and then he uses her for punjab practice. The arrangement is eminently satisfying to them both.

**Stalker Erik** eventually parted ways with most of his harem, retaining only a few dedicated women whose personalities meshed well with his, like Mandy the O and Le Chat. Eventually he abandoned even these and eloped to Montana with a middle-aged and prosaic first grade teacher named Sylvia who wore glasses and had a hearing aid. He said she fulfilled him more than all of his young, enthusiastic harem girls put together, and lived a long and happy life, writing fantastic poetry and splendiferous music and never being depressed again. He still writes to Random occasionally but she only makes fun of him, so he doesn't really know why he bothers.

**flamingices** became a sword-swallower in the Omar Kayam Circus and enjoyed marked success until an unfortunate accident occurred when she neglected to put enough mustard on the blade. Having lost her taste for sword-swallowing, she pursued a career as an accountant, and failed miserably.

**VegaOfTheLyre** went on to enjoy great success as a used car salesperson, even resorting to violently-colored clothes to ensure continued success. Having amassed great wealth, she was devastated when her adopted son, the handsome "Hugh," made off with it all. But you can't keep a good Vega down, and last fall she started again with two horse-drawn carriages and a beat up black Volvo that Random condescended to lend her.

**Rooklyn, **having unfortunately been missed by Random when she was looking for the people who wanted in the story, wasn't in the majority of the phic. However, in her last-chapter appearance at the After Party, she so impressed a talent scout that she was immediately hired to run a hot-dog stand in front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre.

**Ludivine** only showed up in this thing at all because I'm nice. So ha. Ha ha ha.

**MindGame** was the last minion to join the Minionhood, but nevertheless learned quickly that pouring honey on Random's head whilst she is sleeping is a bad, bad, baaaad idea.

**ChristineX** continues her career as the most successful and sought after modern-day phan-phic writer in the business. She recently underwent the transference of a large amount of Bill Gates' fortune to her bank account, due to an error in the computer, and is working up her moral courage to actually do something about it.

It is unknown what **Obsessionpersonified** is doing now but it probably involves harps.

**pOtOgurl417** eventually got married to a real estate salesman who treats her nicely and even tolerates the fact that she cries the name "Erik" in her sleep.

**eyesofatragedy** made a lot of money by capitalizing on her appearance in "Whose Lair," and every time she sees one of her fellow writers she does an interesting and peculiar dance that involves a lot of making faces, waving her hands in the air, and going, "Na, na na na, na, stupid person—"

**IChooseTheScorpion** chose the scorpion two years ago, and has regretted it ever since.

**LibrarianOfTheDeep** held onto her position as librarian (of the deep) for only a few months before she was fired, due to the long lines of people queuing up to get her autograph and generally obstructing those who had come to borrow books.

**Killthefop** eventually became Killthefop Butler. 'Nuff said.

**sparklyscorpion** showed Erik Destler her house and then couldn't get rid of him, not that she tried that hard. He took up residence in her basement and remains there to this day.

**Slina**, having made a momentary appearance in this phic, never reviewed again. Or if she did I missed it. Oh well. She had a long and happy life anyway. Because I'm nice. The end. Bleh. Bitter? me? No, no, no.

**longblacksatinlace** lives in Hawaii and rents boomerangs out to single-parent families who are visiting for the weekend. She's not sure why. It probably has something to do with the little men that live under her bed and who sell her stock market secrets. But she could be wrong.

**THELadyRedDeath**, who is somewhat capital-confused, opened a hair salon in Kentucky. She specializes in beehives, for no particular reason, which is, it has been said, the best way to do it.

**Sydney the Poet** remains monumentally ticked off at her aunt, Random, for not putting her into the phic more often. To be sure, Random warned her that there were tons of other people and she couldn't show favouritism, to which Sydney replied that, well, Stalker Erik seemed to be in there an awful lot, not to mention Hoshi and Adison, and she was resentful of the fact that these strangers were of so much more account than Sydney the Poet, Random's own niece. Random pointed out to her that she wasn't an Erik, a PR Agent, or a minion, and therefore didn't really deserve as much time. The fit that was thrown after this made it clear that it wasn't a good thing to say, and Random's adding, "All I meant was you just aren't as interesting," didn't really help either. However, after methodically destroying half of Random's CD collection, Sydney the Poet recovered from this blow, and then had to recover from another one when Random came back in and discovered her CDs strewn in pieces across the floor. A scuffle ensued, followed by tears on one side and exasperated sighs on another, and finally they reached the agreement that, in return for the grievous ill that Random had done her in not putting her in the phic more, Sydney the Poet would be allowed to kiss Gerry Phantom. So here, Sydney the Poet—

"Hi," said Gerry.

"Its lovely to meet you," said Sydney the Poet.

"Please let go of my pants," said Gerry.

"Alright," said Sydney the Poet, and latched onto his lips instead. Not surprisingly, she was able to manage it from a sitting position, as he was still in possession of the Scottish Pout, and the title of California Pout, while not yet given to another bearer, was apparently passed down through the female line in Random's family.

**Padfootz-luvr**, who if you didn't notice was also a Kay-luvr, or Kay lover, or whatever, eventually learnt to spell.

**SimplyElymas** opened a muffin-exclusive bakery in San Francisco, but lost everything when the Great Muffin Boom of '05 ended about six days later.

**Johanna Gen** now sells vacuum cleaners in space. Rather pointless, really.

**xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx** got a tattoo of her name on her back, but regretted it immediately after. She'd never been in so much pain in her life.

**Songwind** relinquished her title as Official Phic Moderator when Random said she needed the hat back. She went on, however, to star in several commercials for the new Ford Superpack, in which she holds an egg beater high in the air and mimes riding a bicycle whilst singing "I Am The Walrus." Random didn't write this commercial. We swear.

**Phantomy-cookies**, despite the fact that she never reviewed Whose Lair, got shanghaied into Writerdom when she attacked Random about letting Gerry Phantom be with Genn instead of Christine, because Random is just like that.

**thusser-scout** wanted to be the Tomboy Phantom, wasn't allowed to be because she wasn't actually named Erik, and went off in a huff.

**DarkPriestessofAssimbya** somehow managed to turn her start in "Whose Lair" into a prosperous career in politics. Don't even ask.

**MetaChi** still writes some of the most insane fan-fiction on earth, and Random would love to have another cameo in her stories. MetaChi went on to reap the benefits of Random's apparent popularity, as, when Random dropped her name, Random's readers went to read MetaChi's fics, and then realized that MetaChi is, of course, far, far more insane that Random, though Random would probably contest that to her last breath.

**A-Lonely-Dreamer-56**, the second to last person to join the Minionhood, inherited the title of Chief Minion from Hoshi, when Hoshi gave up on ever straightening Random out and went off and got her own minions.

**Phantom's Fallen Angel** recovered from her fall and went on to a less-than-successful career educating school children about gravity.

**ButterflyOfLothlorien **married David Wenham and now lives in Australia quite happily.

**Mademoiselle Daae **also married David Wenham, but lives in New Zealand. Hmm...

**lazy.kender** became the star of several other phics, made lots of money, and retired to a turkey farm in Tibet.

**Scarlett Red Rose **runs a sky-diving school out of Atlanta and, last week, married a man whom we will refer to only as "The Dark One."

**Ophicial-Phan **runs a stock-car racing contest for people under three foot tall, and so far, has won every time.

**le chat** never actually managed to fully seduce her harem master, and eventually had to settle for occasional late-night scratchings-behind-the-ears, kneading his trouser leg, and bringing him his slippers.

**anche** died several chapters ago. Don't you remember? Why are you asking me about her?

**letthedreamdescend **ran out of spaces early on in life, but recovered some when she purchased a print shop that was going out of business. She started a newspaper for physicians called the Weekly Stomach Digest which, despite everything, is doing spectacularly well.

**The Singing Fox Demon **now sings professionally, though in secret, for fear people should get all wide-eyed and frightened at the sight of a warbling demonic fox.

**Mikomi Taisho, **whose name really is Christine, wasn't actually in the phic but begged me so much to be with Gerry Phantom for just a brief moment that (shazam!) she was with Gerry Phantom. For just a brief moment.

**YoukoElfMaiden** runs a second-hand crutches store on Fifth Avenue. We're not telling which city. Just, Fifth Avenue. She also is frequently visited by all the Eriks you can think of.

**Hoshi,** as has been mentioned, eventually gave up on Random ever straightening out and went and got her own minions, whom she ordered to bring shoes to her at all times of the day and night. Rather intelligently, Hoshi managed to secure attractive male minions, and often flaunts this fact when she and Random have a minion-flaunting party. It goes something like this:

"Ha. Ha. Ha. My minions are attractive and male."

"Yeah, well—"

Pause.

"I'm pretend-married to Stalker Erik and you aren't."

"My minions," poke poke, "are male. And attractive. And devoted to me."

"Yeah, well—"

Long pause.

"My minions can— bake cookies. I think. Or something."

"My minions bring me shoes at all times of the day or night. Day. Or. Night."

"Yeah well, my minions are—"

Another long pause.

"Older than your minions. For the most part. And better dressed. For— the most part."

At this point the conversation will proceed to circle around to the beginning and start over. It gets bloody boring after a while, which is why Random and Hoshi only have the minion-flaunting party once every decade, which means they've only had it— once. I do believe my math skills are improving.

**Misty Breyer** always thought she was the heir to the Breyers ice cream millions, until someone pointed out to her that she lacked the all-important S on the end of her name. She went into a deep depression from which she only recovered when a Scotsman on a horse brought her some cotton candy.

**phantomzgerl **stayed true to her name and was the phantom's chief gerl for about two years— until that, is the Phantom started asking what, exactly, the function of a "gerl" is. Phantomzgerl could only frown thoughtfully and think about it for a few minutes before saying, "I don't really know." And so they went on in life, puzzled but, on the whole, happy.

**darksidetwin2 **is a part-time minion who walks dogs on alternate Thursdays.

**Renee17 **recently starred in the adapted-for-television version of the book of Genesis, as Adam's wily little sister, Rosalee.

**Celtic Heart** was, for a while, ticked with Random that she wasn't mentioned in the credits, but when Random explained to her that it was because Random was stupid, she very graciously forgave Random and wrote her a terrific song called "Laugh Miser." Thank you, CH. She also went on to lead a small section of north-eastern Minnesota into reinventing itself as the smallest country in the world, "Sandinia". Most of the people in this phic moved there, and immediately started asking, "Why Minnesota? Why not, I don't know, California?" So far this hasn't been answered.

**phantomsangelofmusic **runs a Moose Lodge in Connecticut and know more about moose than you'd ever want to think about.

**Adison **remains the greatest PR agent in the history of history, not because of results, but because she says so. She writes some stellar phiction herself, which if you haven't read it you should, and regularly has affectionate virtual-coddling sessions with her beta and pretend-husband, Stalker Erik.

**Random Battlecry**, who won't celebrate but will experience her twentieth birthday in November, remains caught in the grip of a difficult addiction to reviews and flattery and the endless repetitions of the word "genius." She struggles every so often with her original fiction, but returns to fan-fiction in the end, every time, and curses the day she wrote that first "Van Helsing" fic. Last week she started an all-new past-time— stalking Tony Shalhoub and Rik Mayall simultaneously. Stalker Erik is refusing to give her pointers but she hasn't done so bad for an amateur.

**Final A/N: Okay, so I really am sorry this is over now. I had an incredibly great time writing it, you reviewers were all incredibly awesome, you writers were also incredibly awesome for letting me borrow your names, your personality quirks, and your identities. (goes to check into bank accounts, with an evil smile) Although I have to say the majority of it was guess-work as I don't actually know any of you. I am planning on writing another phic soon, probably a sequel to "True Saga of Weak Willed Christine," and I still have "Absolution" and "Terms of Endearment" going on, on top of which the party continues with an almost-sequel on PPN. And not just mine, either, there's Hoshi's Lair and the possibility of a Le Chat/sparklyscorpion one, and a partial from Mandy— I've created a monster. **

**Thank you all for helping me have the chance to write this, and curse you all for keeping me from my original stuff... reviews truly are an addiction. Whose Lair will go down in history as the story that finally gave me carpal tunnel— you can think I'm kidding if you like. I wish I actually was— also it is, I think, the first time that "full pouty lips" was used as an insult. This has been my most popular story ever, and a great deal of it stemmed from ideas you all had. Give yourselves a round of applause— named or not, you were all there at the After Party, drinking champagne and pelting people with muffins:**

Joanieponytail, littledarkone, longblacksatinlace, ragingchaosgod, The Maiden Amorisa, ravensmyst, Songwind, moonlightrosegoddess, letthedreamdescend, DarkPriestessofAssimbya, anche, trincula, La Foamy, gavvie, Mikomi Taisho, Misty Breyer, Mithril2014, Dimac99, ElfLover, YoukoElfMaiden, Willow Rose, lazy.kender, MetaChi, Christine Persephone, Mandy the O, Mrs. Tom Riddle, Ludivine, Inuyasha-chibi, The Singing Fox Demon, THELadyRedDeath, Musique et Amour, Baffled Seraph, LivnLuvinReadin, Melissa Brandybuck,EriksAngel1870, Renee17, Marianne Brandon, Librarian of the Deep, Maggie, Chat-tastic, Adison, Tango1, Phantom's Fallen Angel, Master Darth Warius, xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx, Foreveriseternallymine, lamia, fordthepenguin, Leah Day, MorTae, Rooklyn, CelticHeart, Mademoiselle Phantom, Ophicial-Phan, Scarlett Red Rose, bundles 'o joy, Mademoiselle Daae, Neonn, RecklessDriver, easternelvenlady, ButterflyofLothlorien, steph88NYC, sparklyscorpion, erik'sangel527, RoseWithABlackRibbon, Killthefop, Halley Sutton, FireBreathingDragonOfTheHills, MindGame, darksidetwin2, A-Lonely-Dreamer-56, pOtOgurl417, SimplyElymas, VegaOfTheLyre, Martian Aries, S.A. Dickon, Hoshi, RavenPOTOgirl, bellasera, ChristineX, Lady Lomode, ENTR'ACTE, Clever Lass, Slina, Virginia Wildchild, Quixotic-Feline, thusser-scout, IAmYourAngelOfMusic, Son Ange, Esmarelda Gamgee, Favourite, Narsil, Sarah Crawford, iheartbritishhumorandanime, VictoriaTai, Jessica Darque, Rii, Shelvins, Phantress, Beads, Starbrow, Johanna Gen, Sis, Padfootz-Luvr, Miffy the Urple, mercia constantine, KeeperOFBoxFive, Atressa O'Riordan, Moon Avenger, phanphicnewbie, Banana71588, Maidenhair, Miss.Understood.3, Elle67, Elsha,Odsbodikins, flamingices, Tay Yankovic, obsessionpersonified, IchooseTheScorpion, Fishy, Berengae, lossefalme2995, Tziporah, Mary Su, Invader Vega, Cold Fate, thomgondola, Estee W, Rue Marie, babymene 17, NightFallsSoftly, velf, Angelus Musici, Aki T, Angel-of-Music1331, southwestkaoshin, the lost and the lonely, MOI, Thaelia15, Kristiana Marie, Witchy-grrl, LadyRedDeath, Ritoru Kani, Solitaire-Me, LadyKate1, Frogboy Lives, All Apologies, PhilosopherCat, KatieScarlet, WritetotheDeath, LazyCat, Amaruk Wolfheart, Diana, Butterflied777, Betty

**(looks at the list) Holy crap. Thank you again. **

**I remain, your obedient writer— Random**


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